Left Behind
by magnific
Summary: When Hermione is left behind while Harry and Ron hunt for horcruxes, loyalties are tested, difficult decisions are made, and Seventh Year, as we know it, is irrevocably changed. SS/HG, mostly HBP compliant
1. Chapter 1

**Left Behind**

Disclaimer: I stand on the heads of literary giants (I'm very short so shoulders aren't enough :D).

If it's familiar, it's JK Rowling's. If I accidentally ripped off someone's fanfic, drop me a line and I'll rectify it. This disclaimer holds true for the rest of this fic so I shan't repeat it anymore. True mostly until HBP, after which it's AU, but I may include whatever helps from DH.

I won't be able to update regularly due to RL, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it. 8D

* * *

**Chapter One**

_"But at times I wondered if I had not come a long way to find that what I really sought was something I left behind."_  
**Thomas West**

* * *

_King's Cross Station, end of Sixth Year_

Time has a way of changing things such that stories told, as they are passed, are never quite the way they started.

Looking back, that day was, without a doubt, an unusually hot one. The sun beat down mercilessly on the backs of everyday muggles who took refuge under the shade offered by the King's Cross Station. Wiping the sweat off of their foreheads, few noticed the young girl in an off-white blouse and long burgundy skirt appearing in their midst. Had they paid closer attention, they would have realised that she had apparently come through a solid wall. They would have noticed the squash-faced cat she carried in one arm, the impossibly heavy, but very small bag she carried in the other and her flushed face in between. But why would they notice when after all, she seemed so absolutely ordinary?

The loss of colour in her cheeks, however, was not caused by the high temperatures – judicious application of Cooling Charms kept majority of the heat away – but because the girl in question had just lied to all her friends that her parents were waiting for her on the other side of Platform 9 ¾. Since she was striding in the direction of the nearest bus stop, that clearly was _not_ the case.

'_One must lie under certain circumstances and at all times when one can't do anything about them'. _Hermione reminded herself of a book read in her youth, '_It is simply too dangerous. You have to do this as fast as possible'._

She had not informed her parents that she was arriving today. Why draw them unnecessarily out of the already insufficient wards Lupin had put in place for them? He could have only done so much at that time and the way Hermione saw it, those security wards wouldn't be enough in the months to come.

Turning around a corner, she contemplated the beginnings of the plan she would put into action today. One night just before the exams, she had stayed up finishing a rather tedious History of Magic Essay on the Goblin Wars when _it_ hit her. Glunfeek the Gunk had his Meinala, Achilles had his heel, Mark Antony had his Cleopatra and _she_? What did she have?

Oh _yes_, she had her _family_.

A family now protected by a midnight visit and Remus' help - protection that couldn't withstand the rising terror everywhere. It was time to put her next plan into place; they _had_ to be sent away.

Hermione smoothly stepped into the bus. It was a full bus so she was forced to stand, but she was grateful nonetheless as the Cooling Charms had already begun to slip. Outside the trees and street blended into a mesh of gray and green before her tired eyes. Still, she could not fall asleep. With her wand neatly camouflaged in the folds of her skirt, she thought alertness paramount at that moment.

A flash of red caught her eye and she turned to see standing nearby, a man in charcoal gray pants and an obscenely attention-grabbing – and she had to admit, _Gryffindor_ – red. She looked up from the man's clothes and noticed the set jaw, the rather prominent nose. '_Why was he so familiar?'_ Looking up to the most arresting eyes she had ever seen, the moment of clarity hit her like a bludger; the words slipped out faster than the rule of self-preservation – to keep silent – kicked in,

"Professor _Snape_?" Hermione gasped.

Only the slight tipping of his head showed he acknowledged her presence. Fear gripped her as her mind began whirring and quickly she averted her eyes. '_He's a Legilimens.'_ quickly entered her thoughts. The rush of questions in her head began to confuse her. '_Was he alone? Was he here to kidnap her? Would he hurt the muggles –'  
_  
The whirring of her mental gears abruptly ceased. He couldn't possibly attack her _here_. Surely Professor Snape of all people would know the consequences of breaking the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Ancient geasa were _not_ to be trifled with.

Clinging to that thought, Hermione struggled to keep a calm façade and hope none of her internal turmoil was evident. She turned sideways to look at him once more. '_Disarm him with your calm, Granger.'_ "How are you, Sir?" Hermione ventured to query.

A quirk of an eyebrow was his response.

"Not too pleasant I see." she blushed, feeling rather embarrassed by the quality of her attempted small talk.

The professor's eyebrow only rose higher.

Hermione turned again to watch the houses pass outside and trepidation had her heart beating a steady tattoo. The irony in the professor's attire did not escape her nor did the absurdity of their situation. As they passed one house after another, it occurred to Hermione that getting off at the right stop would give _this_ Death Eater a clear idea of where precisely she lived.

The bus slowed to a stop and she moved to get off, when a quick, heavy grip caught her shoulder mid-step.

"You have two more stops, don't you, Miss Granger?" With his words muttered _sotto voce_, she doubted anyone around them could hear him.

The girl in question turned and nodded, her fear clearly visible in her eyes as she stepped back and clung to the safety rail. Her knuckles were white under the pressure, her face likewise and the brief ride felt like the longest bus ride in the world. Her analytical mind found it the irony of all ironies that she was bringing the veritable executioner to her parents' front door.

Dragging his hand through his hair, the professor watched her with something akin to fascination. Where was his over-eager, gratingly confident, yet, quite frankly, very brilliant, student? He found her calm now, more tranquil than he had ever seen her and the muggle attire certainly enhanced what school robes always had hidden, but her _eyes_. Oh, her _eyes_ were _not _at all hers. She would look at him in class with big eyes full of questions, bright and luminous.

These dark orbs were calculating, fearful, cold and tired. Snape had never thought to look at his students _that_ way, but he was man enough to notice that_this_ student usually had beautiful, expressive amber eyes – though he would _never_ attest to such poetic observation. Yet, these _- these_ were not hers.

He observed her watching the passing cars outside and decided he would have to choose his words with care. When he tapped the young girl's shoulder two stops later, he addressed her softly, "I would rather that you not come back next year."

She seemed to have not noticed him as she swiftly got off the bus and strode in what he knew was the wrong direction. A stop later and he too was striding to a nearby hedge behind which he Apparated back to Spinner's End.

When he drank his tea that night, Severus Snape enjoyed what he knew were his last few hours of freedom. The Dark Lord expected him for an entire summer of service at Malfoy Manor, yet depressing as that knowledge was, his thoughts flew back to that moment Miss Granger got off the bus. In the swirling mix of leaves and milk in his cup, he could only see the meld of fury and fear in Miss Granger's eyes and wonder if the thrum of that same, ambivalent emotion was visible in his.

* * *

AN: I think I took too many liberties in this very first chapter. For starters, I modeled the bus system after that in Asia as I have no firsthand experience with UK buses. Secondly, there's a _To Kill a Mockingbird_ quote in there, just for kicks. Thirdly, PM me if you see errata because I'm beta-less at present. Frankly, it feels scary to approach any of those really brilliant writers so I'll delay it while I can.

Reviews would be of great help :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?"  
_** Albus Dumbledore**

* * *

_Hogwarts Express, first of September 1997_

_'I would rather that you not come back next year.'_Hermione shook her head and could not help but grimace at the memory. There was nothing she could do with leaving or coming back now because she was already on the train and it was oddly silent at that. The latter being because for the first time in six years, she was riding the Hogwarts Express alone. Glancing around, she felt the empty seats in the coach were made more empty by the awareness that every September for the past five years, she had had Ron to bicker with and Harry to soothe._'At least I only have to make revision schedules for myself now,'_she tried for a bit of humour and giggled. Quickly, she lined the parchment before her, in preparation for the timetables she would plan. The glass door of the coach slid open.

"Going mad, Hermione?" Neville slipped inside the train compartment while Hermione was still giggling to herself. She laughed again.

"Definitely mental then," he said before he joined her in laughing. He gestured to the papers on her lap, "Am I disturbing you?" When she replied in the negative, he then sat across her, eager to see what was being written on the parchment.

"Revision schedules, Hermione?" his tone incredulous, "This is early, even for _you..._ By the way, where are Ron and Harry?"

He looked up to see a flash of sadness crossing her unnaturally calm visage. "No, they _didn't_ ... they _did_? Those gits! They left you and – "

"It's all right, Neville. I sent them off with my blessings."

"- and me and Ginny, and Luna even. What were they thinking? _Wait_. You _sent _them off _without_ you? With _blessings_?"

The surprised look on Neville's face was comical enough to make Hermione chuckle again. "Yes. Yes, I did. You see, it's part of the pl –," Another look crossed Hermione's face, this time too fleeting for Neville to catch and her next words seemed stilted or somewhat measured. "Neville, what happened to you the night Harry, Ron and I went after the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"What?" Neville was surprised. "Er… you cast a fully body-bind on me."

"Where did we take the Floo to the Department of Mysteries?" she continued.

"We did? I thought we rode Thestrals." Neville began scratching behind one ear. "Hermione, why the sudden questions?"

"Last one. What was the colour of Ginny's dress at Harry's last party?" The question was punctuated by a smirk.

"Pale yellow. She kept complaining that it clashed with her hair and I do think it did, but apparently Mrs. Weasley bought it as a present for her. _Why_ are you asking all these?"

Hermione smoothed the parchments in front of her. "Just checking you're you," she smiled apologetically. "Actually, the first question was enough, considering I lifted the Body-Bind and you said no one else passed by that night so no one else could have possibly known. The latter two were just to make sure."

Neville grinned, "I never did get back at you for that Body-Bind." He moved to sit beside her. "So why did this third of the Golden Trio not join this adventure?" Pretending not to see Hermione's prefect badge, he cast a _Muffliato_ about the compartment. The expected look of reproach turned out to be one of gratitude.

"They're off to do… work Dumbledore left behind, but frankly, I don't think I'd help much on the field. They need more help from outside. Research, supplies – my job. I just hope I'm making the right choice." She leaned closer to the window, resting her cheek on the cold glass. Her fingers tugged at the black heart-shaped pendant hanging from a silver chain around her neck. "Oh, _bollocks_. Being dramatic was never my style, Neville."

"The morbid black heart you're holding says otherwise."

They both chuckled at that; Neville continued, "Don't worry, Hermione. I doubt you made the decision without thinking it through. There is no shame in being left behind, especially if it's by choice. I would know." His smile was small but most sincere.

"What matters is that you play your assigned role well. Besides, you have Ginny, Luna and me to help you here. We have the DA to restart, don't we?"

Hermione smiled, "Really?"

Neville's grin grew. "Yes, really." Leaning back, he placed a friendly arm around her shoulders. The familiar gesture relaxed Hermione and she leaned towards him.

"Thanks." While they continued to look out the window at the meadows they were passing by, Hermione couldn't help but tease, "Since when did you become so wise?

"Dunno." Neville patted Hermione's book bag. " Say, you wouldn't have happened to have made me one of those timetables too, would you?"

She punched him lightly before she started on a parchment for him.

* * *

_Hogwarts' staff room, after the Sorting Feast_

Severus Snape paced repeatedly across the rich brown carpet, thinking his feet on regular rugs would have worn the threads sufficiently to create a distinct path. Only house elves' magic perhaps kept this one as clean and apparently as new as it had been the first time he had stepped into the room almost two decades ago. Its rather dull, but undeniably tasteful, appearance was always a bit out of place in this room, in his opinion, given the varied odds and ends of the professors cluttering the available workspaces. Behind him, the door swung open and Alecto Carrow entered the room. Her brother, for once, was not following closely behind her.

"Professor Carrow."

"Headmaster," she replied while taking a soft black arm chair, plausibly the best seat in the room.

For a second there, with the use of the title, Snape almost believed Carrow had greeted Dumbledore. Skills in feigning nonchalance gained over a lifetime were all that could effectively combat the strong urge in Snape to turn around and greet the man _he_ had called Headmaster.

To distract himself, he contemplated the seating arrangements in the room. Not for the first time, he wondered why the best seat was normally the spare one in meetings past. Most teachers had conjured their own during their first week at work like Minerva and her rigid oak chair (with secretly applied cushioning charms. He knew. He had sat on it once when she was out.), Flitwick and his not-so-subtle high chair, Sinistra and Hooch shared their chintz sofa, Snape with his boring regular arm chair now back in his quarters, and Dumbledore had always sat in a hideously upholstered, rainbow-coloured wicker chair. To the staff, the soft black armchair had always been the odd one out, meant for passing guests and when Lucius or another from the board would occasionally sit in.

He watched the other professors slowly trickle in, drawn in partly by the tradition of a staff briefing to begin the year, partly by Snape's clearly worded missive that none were exempt from this meeting. Realising how odd it must appear to them for the Headmaster to be continuously pacing, Snape gingerly sat himself in the late Headmaster's wicker chair, touched the padding and wandlessly charmed it black with a subtle flick of the wrist. The unmistakeable glares resulting from that action were easily ignored by his contemplation of his spindly fingers lacing and unlacing themselves in different arrangements. Last to enter were the Heads of House, obviously late from their own house briefings.

"How are _my_ Slytherins?" he asked Amycus as greeting. The possessive pronoun hinted at territoriality. He barely listened to Carrow's leering laugh and detailed response, distracted, however much he denied the reality of him feeling such, by the thought that he was _no_t Head of Slytherin anymore. It was the first time in over a decade and half that he was not there to welcome the new first years in their common room. He wondered if Carrow had given the same opening speech half welcoming and half expectation of honourable conduct and good manners. From the way Carrow ate his dinner, Snape doubted so.

Instead of enjoying his last night of no essays to mark as he was wont to do in years past, he was _here_, conducting a meeting amongst people who either wished him a slow death or loyally served his murderous, bloodthirsty master. All while sitting on the chair previously used by a man he had considered both father and manipulative master, whom he had killed only three months ago.

'_If this was the kind of pressure Albus had to face daily as Headmaster, it's no wonder his hair was all white', _he thought, '_Of all the sodden times to have a moment of vanity for my own hair.'_

If he could do so without being noticed, he would have rolled his eyes. Since it was clearly time to begin speaking to the staff, he desisted from such puerility.

He began to cover the reinstatement of Umbridge's Educational Decrees, complete with ward alarms to be monitored by him and the professors while studiously avoiding the sheer delight in the Carrows' expressions or the way Minerva's eyebrows were meeting and her lips thinning.

If anything, it was cold comfort that sitting in _that_ chair, with all the hurt and guilt and betrayal it entailed, was one thing he _could_ do. It was a perverted testament to his strength of will. No one, perhaps not even the late Headmaster, could equal him in that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_"I better read between the lines in case I need it when I'm older."_  
**Foreigner**

* * *

_Great Hall, about a week later_

To say the first few days of school had been hectic would be a downright understatement. The course load Hermione had undertaken was not easy to say the least. Add to that her continuous worrying about when Harry and Ron would contact her, illegally reading up on spells and charms bordering on dark late at night in the Restricted Section, mounting duties as a prefect due to students being always on the edge and the collective, unbridled tension of the whole castle and you had the equivalent of a stress potion, if there was such a thing, in her and she a human cauldron.

_'Not to mention Ginny and Neville's newly developed skills in getting into trouble.'_

Hermione dropped her head in her hands, her face hit by steam as the empty tea cup in front of her refilled itself. The two were often getting into spats with the new _professors_ or the Slytherins and try as she might to fade into the background, she still had to deal with the scratches and saving essays for the detention-laden just as when Harry and Ron were here. The memory of the boys felt like a dull ache yet again.

This was why she chose to eat breakfast early – she used the tranquillity of the breaking dawn to centre herself and thankfully, the hall around her _was_silent. Empty too, although the adjectives were corollaries of each other in Hermione's books, given she was in Hogwarts.

The still moment was broken by an audible creak of a door other than the main entrance reverberating through the crisp, autumnal morning air. Hermione turned to peek at the Head Table. It was empty as well if not for the floating cup before the centre chair.

Her head jerked back to look at the heaping plates of toast, eggs and bacon rashers now set before her. It never ceased to amaze Hermione that the house elves would have food prepared no matter how early she arrived, but that thought was not foremost in her mind at that point.

'_The headmaster is here._' And she was concerned.

Disillusionment spell, perhaps an invisibility cloak or whatnot, but he was here nonetheless. Her mind whirred through the possibilities. He could kill her, kidnap her or –

'_Right. The Hogwarts Student Protection Charm.'_ Hermione scolded herself. It was one of the first things she could remember Binns mentioning. It was not covered by the text or _Hogwarts – A History_ regardless of edition, which was why the memory of Binns teaching something not in the book stuck to her, although in a somewhat faded form.

'_The war is making me paranoid.'_

Her paranoia was not unfounded. Constant Vigilance was downright valid in these times and the Carrows in the past week had sent threat after threat at misbehaving students. Luckily for the children, the sinister pair had yet to act on them. On the other hand, other teachers, even Order members, were unbearably cold, although Hermione thought that it was most likely they were simply wary of the reinstatement of Umbridge's Educational Decrees, now coupled with the Carrows' and Headmaster's threats that they had ward alarms in place to check on those who dared not follow. She would have thought it Slytherin tactic not to mention the alarms at all, except perhaps they didn't have the time and wanted to nip plans in the bud.

There was another loud creak and Hermione turned to the door to see several Ravenclaws, including Luna, followed by Ginny and Neville, entering the Great Hall. It was also at this moment that the owl post chose to arrive and out of the flurry of feathers, three haughty, tawny owls landed smoothly beside her, the crest on their chests proudly declaring they were the Ministry's. She exchanged a bit of bacon for three packages - one each for Harry, Ron and herself – and pocketed them inconspicuously in turn.

"Lots of gifts you have." Ginny grinned at Hermione as she sat down in front of her and obviously had still noticed.

"From Headmaster Dumbledore's will. Ministry finally released them." She grimaced internally at her curt response, but the minimal caffeine of the tea had yet to enter her system. A morning person she was clearly not and the subject was a rather touchy one for her.

"Oh." Ginny paled.

Luna, who had begun the odd habit – then again, it wasn't that odd since it _was_ Luna – of sitting at the Gryffindor table with them glanced at the Head Table and observed, "Headmaster Snape looks rather peaky. I think teaching potions and handling duties as Headmaster is tiring him."

She turned her attention to her breakfast. "Why's he still teaching us?"

Neville shivered. "So he can keep torturing us?"

"Neville! So he can keep an eye on us, of course." Hermione rolled her eyes at the boy's dread. She hoped it was a convincing display of a lack of fear, considering how quickly the Headmaster inspired it in her as well. Taking another peek at the Head Table, she noticed he had removed the Disillusionment Spell or whatever charm had rendered him invisible as he was visibly perusing his copy of the Daily Prophet intently.

She glanced at Ginny's copy and saw a picture of Harry and Ron and a declaration of a bounty for their capture. Several articles spoke of sightings and reasons why the duo had not returned to Hogwarts and Hermione was glad to note that they were incorrect.

"Oh well, he's a brilliant teacher anyway," Luna concluded.

"You're in NEWT Potions, Luna?"

"She's in NEWT – level _everything_. Well, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Divination and Potions," Ginny replied with exasperation-coated admiration. "You beat her by having one more subject."

Hermione grinned. Why should she be surprised that the quirky Ravenclaw had such a heavy course load? What was it the Sorting had said? '_Wise old__Ravenclaw__, if you've a ready mind - where those of wit and learning will always find their kind_.' It was not the first time Hermione recalled that her first impressions of the Wizarding World were coloured by a rather tattered, loquacious hat.

"Well, good luck with that. I'll see you during dinner." she drank up the last of her tea, and slung her heavy bag over her shoulder. As she left the Great Hall, Ginny turned to the others.

"_How _does she take all those subjects in one day _and_ eat less than I do?"

Hermione smirked at that. No one had to know about the chocolate stash at the bottom of her seemingly bottomless bag laced with her special version of Pepper-Up Potion. Extremely conscientious with dosage, Hermione was assured regular pick-me-ups with little side effects if what the library book she'd based her ideas on was correct and if it wasn't, she... really didn't want to go there.

As most of the school was still eating breakfast, the corridors were relatively empty and it was a sedate stroll towards the dungeons. Each step down the staircase was colder than the last. Imperceptibly so, but it had its effects, and Hermione always wondered if Headmaster Snape had intentionally made it that way. She smirked at the memory of the time she first figured out why the hairs on the back of her neck stood before she had even reached the Potions classroom.

When she did reach the classroom, its oaken door hummed under her touch. She had noticed that too the first time she came to class before the rest of the level did at the start of this school year. In the silence of the early morning, wards were fairly detectable to her and she attributed this to her innate magical strength.

_'Signs of a paranoid headmaster.' _Hermione tried to find some humour in the rather bleak situation as she walked to the front of the classroom. Since Harry and Ron had left, she had taken to sitting at the corner of the class where she was near enough to the front not to have others wondering why, but far enough from the centre of the class to avoid catching attention. She took out her homework to recheck the content since she did not want to waste the last ten minutes of silence left before the rest of her classmates arrived.

"- a bit of torture would spice things up."

Hermione looked around to see who had spoken to her.

The next voice was swift and icy in its brevity. "_No_. You _cannot_ hurt the students."

Hermione noticed the door to Snape's office was slightly ajar. The voices of those inside frightened her, but she knew better than to waste this chance to listen in. That and she wondered how she could have just seen Headmaster Snape at the Head Table if he was here. A double, it seemed.

"You almost sound like you care, Severus." A chortle that sounded more like raspy wheeze came from inside the inner room. "But I know you better than that."

"An ancient geas protects these children, might I remind you. It was covered in your first year History of Magic." He left the words _'you idiot'_ unsaid.

"So what? I'm sure you could break it. That's why the Dark Lord made _you_ Headmaster."

"Those enchantments are older than all of us combined. I doubt the will of an aging Potions Master could do much to counter them."

The Carrow siblings chuckled at that. Alecto ventured to ask, "What about Potter?"

"What about him?"

"You _have_ to track him."

"_How so?_" Severus emphasised each word as if they were separate threats.

"I thought you knew this already," Amycus sounded truly confused, "Through that mudblood girlfriend of his."

"Everything is already in place. Miss Granger's incoming mail, the connections of her common room floo, as well as her general location at all times are all being monitored." Hermione could hear someone pacing from inside – Headmaster Snape she assumed. "If she is in touch with _Potter_, we'll know."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat with the next question.

"Why not just use Veritaserum on the girl?"

"I doubt she'd know where they are either if they keep moving, which is what we can reasonably expect." This time, Snape did not withhold the slur. "And the geas, you idiot."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed at that. Really? Well, if there was anyone who could have memorised arcane details more than her, it must have been Professor Snape. It _had_ been some time since she last opened her First Year History of Magic notes and even annoying swots like herself did not keep every detail of First Year in perfect condition in her memory. She made a mental note to check on that.

The movement of chairs and shuffling of feet caught her attention, causing Hermione to look steadfastly at her notes. "Oh, right. Well, students will be coming in soon. We should be going."

When they passed by her desk, Hermione could feel the chilling gaze of the female Carrow and another look, quite to the opposite, of the male, but she stared resolutely at the page on experimental gillyweed bases until she heard the click of the door closing. Hearing that, her shoulders dropped and she tried to relax by breathing deeply. A tense Hermione was not a good brewer and she needed to make it sanely past this potions class if she wanted Snape to not realise that anything was amiss or that perchance she had eavesdropped. Hopefully he wouldn't notice that the charms had weakened while she was visibly within hearing distance.

As the other students arrived, Hermione sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening up above. A little guidance or peace of mind wouldn't hurt. After all, it was only eight in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_"From our birthday, until we die_  
_is but the winking of an eye."_  
**William Butler Yeats**_  
_

* * *

_Gryffindor Seventh Year Girls' Dormitory, a quarter past six in the morning_

It had begun as a light tapping and perhaps other Seventh Years would bask in the fact that graduating students had private rooms and ignore the knock on their doors, but Hermione was Hermione and being Hermione, she had rightly expected that her male prefectural counterpart, Seamus Finnegan, would often sleep in a bed not his own, thus one of the complicated wards she had erected around her room included what could be thought of as a knock-amplifier. The lightest of raps would increase in volume until she responded to visitors or students in need of assistance.

It was still fairly dark outside and cocooned in the silence of her room, the tapping came across as fairly loud thuds now. Hermione stood, reaching for a dressing gown to don over her night. A quick Scourgify later – not good for the skin according to Lavender, but Hermione doubted a visitor this early in the morning could wait and since _when_ did she listen to Lavender – Hermione opened the door to a rather bloodied Neville waiting outside.

She gasped, hurriedly pulled him in and left the door open as he was followed by a frightfully pale Ginny and an unperturbed Luna, carrying a box. Raiding her personal first-aid box, she deferred questions until the cut on his face had been cleaned. The blood all over the front of his robes, on the other hand, was removed with Ginny's assistance.

"Six brothers." Ginny replied when Hermione looked up from Neville's cut to witness the redhead's perfect execution of a rather tricky stain-removing spell. "Wasn't too sure about healing spells though so we had to go to you." There was no need to mention that Poppy had been visibly overworked during the past few weeks.  
_  
_It only took a few dabs of a cloth dipped in dittany to have the skin knit itself together. After replacing the bottle in her wardrobe drawer, Hermione turned to the three.

"There had better be a good reason for that."

"There is."

"Well," Hermione sat down at the end of her bed. "Let's hear it."

"We were walking along the corridor," Neville began. "Professor Carrow appeared out of nowhere and sent a Slicing Hex straight at Ginny or Luna – I couldn't really tell – and the Protego I cast didn't seem to work so I just blocked it myself."

Wide-eyed, Hermione understood why they hadn't gone to Madame Pomfrey. The girls all winced and Neville looked down at his hands, rubbing the palms together. "It was okay. Really."

"Did he even say why?"

"She. Amycus Carrow. And no, I have no idea why."

"Something about us convening outside class time," Ginny added. "Honestly, we were just on the way to your room."

"What?" Hermione was clearly confused. Neville was chuckling as he got off the bed. "_Honestly_, do you even remember what day it is today, Hermione?"

Hermione thought for a few moments. Her eyes lit up when it hit her.

Luna spoke up. "We were bringing you a gift, Hermione. Happy birthday."

Hermione turned to where Luna stood behind her. She had gravitated to the window or rather the Healing Herb she had been carrying in the box was gravitating to the sun, its leaves angled to bask fully in the light. Hermione was touched by their thoughtfulness after she realized it was a gift.

"Neville obviously grew it." Ginny offered. "Luna handled the charms that will keep it small and in shape so it won't take up too much space. I mostly helped out in keeping an eye over it. The rest of my contribution to your birthday surprise is waiting on your breakfast plate." She came over and hugged the older girl.

"Thank you, guys." Hermione rested her head atop the red waves of her friend's hair. Luna and Neville approached them and the young man pulled the three girls into a giant bear hug. "I'd forgotten with all the things I've been handling."

A wheeze. "We knew." Luna was having difficulty breathing because of Neville's crushing hug. "So do we head on to breakfast so we can eat Ginny's surprise cake for you?"

"Luna!"

Hermione laughed. "Oh, it's all right, guys. I'll pretend I'm surprised when I see it, Ginny, if you want me to."

"_If_ we get to see it." The normally fair girl was turning an odd shade of blue. "Let go of us, Neville. Asphyxiation just isn't a good way to go."

* * *

_Great Hall, lunch time_

Something had been niggling at Hermione all morning during the whole of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but it was only during their lunch that she had the opportunity to ask.

"Neville," she cast a covert Muffliato beneath the table, "what happened after the Carrows attacked you?"

The boy had been tucking heartily into his meal. Swallowing, he looked to Ginny to answer and said, "It was a bit of a blur, really."

"The Headmaster came by," the redhead supplied.

Hermione put down her spoon. "What?"

"He was following the Carrows." Luna continued. She had been walking behind the other two since she was levitating the plant box, hence she'd seen the scene clearer. "Fuming mad about something."

"Yeah. Another hex hit me and blood started dripping from my nose. The whole front of my shirt was immediately bloody too."

"The Headmaster hit you, I think, Neville." The calm manner in with which Luna said this perturbed Hermione, "Then he sent us off."

Hermione was surprised. No points, no detention, not even a questioning – and given all she had overheard him saying to the Carrows? Then again, she wouldn't tempt fate by mentioning it. She asked instead, "Did he say anything?"

"He said, 'Happy?"

"What?" The frequency with which she was asking that question was beginning to irk her inner know-it-all.

"I think it was directed at the Carrows." Neville looked like he was trying to remember the sequence of events more clearly, "He said that, then told us to leave."

Hermione became pensive. As she pushed the food around her plate, she couldn't help, but feel something was wrong with the turn of events and deciding that she wouldn't be eating any more even if she stayed longer, she stood to leave.

"You're done eating?" Ginny's tone was incredulous.

"Still full from breakfast." Hermione grinned. "Lots of food for thought." As if a replay of that morning, she swung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the door of the Great Hall.

"Honestly." Ginny huffed, "She's not even the type to watch her weight, but she's thinner than I am."

* * *

_Room of Requirement, after dinner time_

She'd missed dinner to be here, sitting by the hearth in peace, since Hermione was truly more of an introspective person. All in all, this birthday had been pleasant – or at least, more pleasant than could be expected under the conditions they were in. The cake Ginny made was almost Molly-like, which caused Hermione to speculate on the younger girl's marriage plans. Tea and cookies from Mrs. Weasley sent through owl post this morning were there to tide her by as well as her personal stash of Pepper-Up laced chocolates.

The Weasley brothers were pretty thoughtful friends too as the majority of her presents came in the form of books from the Weasley family – she presumed the books on wards was from Bill, for instance, but there were several others on potions and dragons too. Lupin also sent a Honeydukes gift check. The most entertaining gifts, however, were spread out before her: an assortment of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products. They'd been disguised as female toiletries, but Hermione knew enough to recognize the trademark personalized, touch-activated WWW glamour. How they did it without breaking privacy laws since such a charm would technically require a sample ofhair or nails or something similar from the recipient, she didn't want to know. She touched the wrapping and in an instant, she had a vial of tester potions, including what she guessed was an illegal Veritaserum the boys marketed as _Bluff!_, several pairs of enhanced Extendable Ears, a complete Skiving Snackbox, and apparently the Luscious Lipgloss – _Bewitch Your Wizard! _(Hermione's eyes rolled at that)_-,_ that had been among the beauty products wasn't under a glamour.

The whole package had been stuffed with chains of heart-shaped confetti and one of her eyebrows shot up as she noticed their shape.

_'Now is as good a time as any,'_ she mused. The hearts were lined up on the table in front of her in short order and she directed a shot of a bluebell flame at the last one. Like dominoes falling, the flames ran through the paper chain, creating sparks that ricocheted around the room. It was a curious mix of shiny cusswords and split-second explosions of naughty images. Only the last words to dissipate were clearly for her.

"_Happy Birthday, Hermione!" _glittered in rainbow colours. _"Welcome to the adult Wizarding World! Don't have too much fun okay?"_

Hermione laughed at the irony of what she was hearing and who sent the message to her. Making a mental note to check the lipgloss for added enchantments by the twins later, she enjoyed the message at face value, purposely not thinking of the innuendo.

One of the clear benefits of the Room of Requirement was sound-proofing and the distinction from most castle wards. Else, she'd have teachers running in when she released the fire-hazard hearts. Good thing too because the next thing she heard was not fit for enemy ears. She could recognize Ron's voice from anywhere.

"Bloody hell! What was that for?"

* * *

AN: Thank you for the kind reviews. As I edited my drafts for the succeeding chapters, I realised that I'm terribly slow and we've had little SS/HG action. Just going for a realistic pace so I hope you don't mind and we'll get there eventually, I assure you. :) Please do keep reading and drop a review if you'd like.


	5. Chapter 5

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Five  
**

_"The cruellest lies are often told in silence."_  
**Robert Louis Stevenson  
**

* * *

_Room of Requirement, Saturday a week later_

A week of nightly research was taking its toll on Hermione. She was tired, as a result cranky and she was frustrated by what she dreaded to admit was cabin – in this case, castle – fever. True, she often used this place to organise a self-managed duelling training regimen, which often lifted up her spirits and helped her feel freer, but right now, she was too tired to even contemplate practicing simple hexes.

Distraction wasn't an option and however much she wished, she couldn't burn the small portrait of herself, Ron and Harry now hidden in the locket she bought to Hogwarts. She did regularly threaten them however with turpentine when their conversations became too distracting. _That_ and the memory of her nearly burning them, though unintentionally, among the confetti explosions during her birthday had kept them in the counterpart mini-portrait carried by the boys.

_'Do not harm the messenger,'_ she thought. Well, she _had_ brought it upon herself. A stroke of genius on her part, she did think, having come up with the idea during the summer at the Burrow. It had taken longer than expected for Harry and Ron to actually get a snapshot of themselves reproduced in a by a Wizarding portrait painter in a place far enough to evade notice by Voldemort, but wherever they had gone, at least it was here now. She was pleased that the boys had found a way to sent it to her – they had all anticipated that she'd be watched and she had to admit she was fairly impressed by them. The pang that they were out there without her was eased by the knowledge that they were still depending on her research and planning. She'd deal with her own hero-complexes or whatever she was feeling after it was all over.

She barely understood why the boys needed her to research trinkets or items of sentimental value to the founders. Explanations would come later, she presumed, when they would meet in a week's time because none of them could ascertain how secure using the portraits for communication was. They even made use of codes Hermione had designed before they had separated in case other portraits of unsavoury characters were lurking in the trio's picture.

She relied heavily on muggle nursery rhymes and fairy tales to help Harry should he forget and need to jog his memory for symbolism. In this case, _"The witch met Hansel and Gretel a week after behind the Beanstalk an hour before Cinderella left the ball"_ meant a meeting among the three in a week at the Forbidden Forest near Hagrid's hut at eleven in the evening. Additionally, the boys could not Apparate; they were being tracked by the ministry that was now in Voldemort's control and only the luck of being under the invisibility cloak had spared them capture the first and last time the boys had attempted it.

It was times like these that Hermione was thankful for the Room of Requirement that allowed her to study and research in peace with reference books and snacks literally popping up when necessary. The latter, she attributed to over-enthusiastic Hogwarts house elves and caused the part of her that had initiated S.P.E.W. to cringe. She was more disgruntled, however, that the room which purportedly could be used for night time exploits of the more experimental kind by hormonal Seventh Year students would not give her copies of books in the Restricted Section. Instead she had to satisfy herself with speedier, late night access to the regular library tomes.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Hermione found it was half past twelve. She forced herself to stand, fully aware that a lack of sleep would only make her less efficient the following morning. After she packed and left, she bid the room good night (or an early good morning, if she had to be accurate.) A sentient room deserved that much, in her point of view.

Outside, the corridors were oddly iridescent, as if the stones came alive with the colours they did not display in the day. Hermione found the school especially beautiful at night, when the only light source was the moon and its rays bathed the castle walls; she presumed she'd appear a rather unearthly shade of white if she was not hidden under a Disillusionment Spell.

During her nightly traversing of the halls, she favoured taking off her shoes over casting a Silencing Spell over herself, hoping to bask in the real peace offered by the silence. At that exact moment, it was a decision she direly regretted because the distinct clicks of someone else's soles against the cold stone floor reverberated through the corridors like gunshots.

Hermione froze mid-step; her heart began to race. Much as she was truthfully not doing anything against the rules other than the obvious breaking of curfew, these days, detentions over petty matters were getting more and more frightening. The Carrows, it appeared had won over one Headmaster Snape in terms of applying torture, yet she also knew they frequently patrolled the more obvious places like the Rose gardens or the Astronomy Tower instead of the normally empty corridor she was standing in. Hermione often wondered what kept them from simply doping her with Veritaserum to discover where Harry was, but she remembered Professor Snape's warning them regarding the geas and thanked the heavens for that.

The pure rush, however, of all those thoughts compressed in a second of instinct convinced Hermione that the safest recourse would be to hide in an armour's shadow and wait until the professor, Filch, or whoever was passing by had left. She could barely contain her gasp, however, when out of the shadows came the Headmaster.

He was silvery gray when his black robes were awash in the moonlight, but she could easily imagine him again in red and black on a bus. Like that reincarnation of himself, this one spoke softly, the warning in his voice glittering like knives newly sharpened.

"Reveal yourself or _I_ will do so for you and the consequences of the latter may be... _unpleasant_."

Integrity won out over self-preservation – and his threat did not bode well should she continue hiding. Hermione bit her lips and walked closer to him; not wanting to take her chances nor have him forcefully reveal her first, she dropped the spell.

"_Miss Granger_." Each word was enunciated fully, emphasized like threats. The Headmaster's eyes were slivers of coal in an incredibly calm face. He had not been sleeping well as the telltale dark circles around his eyes indicated. _'Probably too tired to maintain glamours,'_ she thought, '_They hadn't been visible during Potions class earlier._'

"I'm sorry, sir." Hermione instinctively looked down at her shoes. The training of six years in and out of the Potions laboratory had taught her, however, that this man had a subtle but discernable preference for those who accepted punishments head on. She raised her eyes to his as she layered memories upon memories of the library over her Occlumency shields. "I had lost track of time while revising at the Library." She prayed that he hadn't just been to the Library nor had Madame Pince revoked her permission for Hermione to stay at the library past closing.

She felt the gentle nudging of his mind against hers. It was a split-second decision, but she allowed him through the initial layers, flooding him instead with images of the day's Transfiguration and Potion's classes, snippets of Quidditch talk during dinner at the Great Hall, a couple of glances at the more attractive members of her batch at Ginny's insistence, and her daily ablutions. Anything mundane to defer detection of her shields because as Professor Snape had mentioned to them once in the Black House before his _defection_, underestimation lets one wield unknown power. That and having shields just proves you have something to hide, which was, Hermione decided, not a good plan when faced with one who has been a Legilimens for decades in the least.

A second's worth of seeking and he was out as swiftly as he had entered. _'Perhaps, he doesn't do it consciously anymore,'_ she thought, _'Headmaster Dumbledore never did seem to realise that he was probing.'_

The present Headmaster nodded his head curtly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for breaking curfew _and_ detention, Ms. Granger, with Professor McGonagall. A prefect should know better."

Hermione contemplated her shoes again. She was getting off this lightly considering all the horrid punishments she'd heard the Carrows mete out. Filch too was revelling in the opportunity to threaten students with dates with his manacles. She felt the Headmaster's robes swish near her shoes as he turned to leave.

She looked up to watch him glide across the corridor much like the ghosts did. It was the robes that did it, she was sure and if the situation hadn't given her an adrenalin rush from fear, she would have found a situation of herself contemplating the Headmaster's fashion choices positively ludicrous. Before she had even gone past a few paces, he was already at the hall's end and was looking over his shoulder back at her.

Dark brown eyes met deepest black. While his footsteps had been gunshots, his voice sliced through the air like the bladed weapon it was. "_Another_ twenty points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger. _Don't _ever_ lie to me_."

And with another swish of his robes, he turned a corner and was gone.

* * *

AN: Yes, there's a line from the movie and I know it's grammatically incorrect to start a sentence with "and" but it seemed to fit so nicely up there so please forgive me :) Reviews? :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_"If a man was not at his neighbour's keyhole, it is probable that his neighbours would be at his."_  
**Ian Ferguson  
**

* * *

_outside McGonagall's office_

Professor McGonagall assigned detention on the first Saturday of October, citing daily detention with several other students during weekdays as her reason. Hermione was simply relieved that it would end early enough for her meeting with Harry and Ron. She couldn't believe, however, that she was actually looking forward to detention.

_'Then again, it is rather reasonable to feel such',_ she thought, as she walked to the Professor McGonagall's office after lunch. Hermione had long wanted to approach the latter but she didn't know if God knows which Ministry Decree – even the swot in her balked at memorising the horrid edicts – included apprenticeships under unwarranted topics outside classroom matters. Much as she wasn't completely adverse to disobeying rules, everyone had heard that alarms or spies had been put in place.

Having reached the professor's door, she raised her hand to knock on it. It swung open as Professor McGonagall's voice called out, "Come in Ms. Granger." Hermione complied , her eyes quickly scanning the room, and they settled on the two porcelain cups and a familiar black tea pot. Her shoulders lost their tension; it had been so long since she'd had tea with her Head of House and it seemed that the older lady had found a way to evade the rules.

"Ms. Granger." The younger woman's eyes met her mentor's in surprise. Never had she heard her favourite teacher speak so sharply. "You will be sorting the items used by this week's transfiguration classes."

Or not, apparently. Hermione was taken aback, yet she realised that perhaps she been too hasty in assuming that the tea was for her. Before she had turned to the door leading to the adjacent classroom however, she heard the heavy, oaken door shut with a loud thud.

"I'm sorry about that," the older woman gestured to the seat before her desk, "I cannot tell who could be listening in. If they could find a way to break the privacy wards of the professors, I'm sure they would have." Hermione chuckled as she graciously accepted the proffered seat. She had forgotten about those. Those wards were woven into the very foundations of the school. Over-riding them was bloody unlikely, but she wouldn't put it past the present Headmaster to have tried _something_. The professor began pouring her trademark Harrogate blend, "Do you remember what I said before I closed the door?"

Hermione thought back for a moment and chuckled again. There was no mention of disallowing magical means and thus, with a flick of her wrists, the cockles, tortoise shells, match sticks and other odds and ends sorted themselves.

"Very good, Hermione," Professor McGonagall handed her a cup. "Someone who reads as voraciously as you do must have some type of sorting spell handy. I would know." She pursed her lips wryly as she picked up her teacup, "So, we have an hour's worth of detention. For today, I shall require you to sustain half of a decent conversation."

Hermione decided that it was the dry wit that always kept her entertained around the professor as she almost chuckled a third time. As she added a cube of sugar and a bit of milk, she felt this was her chance, and spoke up.

"Professor, I've meant to ask you about doing an extra project." Her fingers traced the rose patterns of the teacup, seeking comfort in their familiarity.

"Well, my dear, I would not think you require my permission to do so."

Hermione nodded and recalled to mind what she had read in the library, "If you would not deem it impolite, may I ask if you have an apprentice at present?" Wizarding Etiquette was the text's self-explanatory title and she hoped her hunch as right.

The tips of the older woman's lips turned slightly upward as she did a quick mental computation, "My last apprentice left me about sixteen years ago."

"May I formally offer my project as proof and test of my dedication to the craft you have mastered?"

The professor smiled a tight-lipped smile, one that in Hermione's mind was equal to a full blown grin. She took it as leave to continue.

"And should I succeed, may I offer it as part of my request to become your apprentice?"

The tension in the room was drawn taut like a violin string. There was a moment when Hermione feared that the Ministerial Decree had somehow taken effect and silenced them both, but Professor McGonagall raised both her wand and voice to complete the tradition. "I accept your offer, Hermione Jean Granger. I will be honoured to consider offering you an apprenticeship upon successful completion of your project."

Hermione touched the tip of her wand to that of her mentor's to complete the traditional binding of wizards and their apprentices. The ends lit up as if they had simultaneously cast_ Lumos_; ribbons of gold and white spiralled out, intertwined from where their wands were joined. The ribbons changed form and colour again and again as shadows and tables around them shifted into birds, furniture, diamonds, frogs, brooms, quills and back into tables again. As swiftly as these appeared, a gust of wind from above them dissipated the smoke and returned the room to its original form.

Lowering her wand, Professor McGonagall spoke in a softer tone. "I promised myself I would only take on an apprentice who could ask me with the same words I had directed to my master. After all, such relationships are all about respect, decorum and trust. For the craft and for each other." She tapped the rose plate beside the tea pot with her wand. "I'm very glad you did your research, my dear."

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione thought of the books she had had to consult to find the proper words. She had only heard of them through older students and felt fortunate that instinct had told her that Professor McGonagall would appreciate the gesture. There was a lull in the conversation when only the tinkle of teaspoons against china was audible. Hermione thought of her plans for the future, "Professor, would it be all right if I used the project to earn extra credit in charms or potions as well?"

A house elf, it appeared to be Winky, responded to Professor McGonagall's request by filling the rose plate with short bread and disappeared with a small curtsey when the Professor thanked her. She turned to Hermione,

"An interdisciplinary project then?"

"Yes, something like that."

"Well, I'm just very happy to know that when all this is over," she gestured around them as if her hand could encompass the entirety of their situation, "One of the brightest witches I had ever known has a future under my tutelage. How and where you earn credit for this project is entirely up to you."

Hermione blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Professor."

"So, Hermione, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Professor?"

"Well, you're a smart young lass, you would have found a way to discuss an apprenticeship with me under normal circumstances." The tartan clad woman dared not continue. If she thought as Hermione did - and she did in fact – the alarms on meetings or illicit conversations between teachers and students were set off by certain phrases rather than actual intent, the latter being nearly impossible to implement.

Like a light bulb turned on, an idea popped into Hermione's mind. "Professor, from a purely academic standpoint," she sincerely hoped the word 'academic' would prevent the enchantments guarding the castle from alerting the Carrows or whoever was watching that they were delving into matters wholly not scholastic, "Would you think that another class concerning magical warfare should be offered in Hogwarts?"

A quirk of her lip was Professor McGonagall's initial response. "Theoretically speaking, Hermione, it would help, however it would interfere with the classes at present. I don't think students would attend _class on_ _weekends_. After all, with Quidditch practices and all, students would have to _do it at night._ You'd also have to find a _room _that would have all _of_ your _requirements_." As if tired of her mini monologue, the Professor leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

Hermione did not miss the not-so-subtle emphasis and it seemed that great minds ran parallel. "I presume for such an idea to be successful, _we will_ need someone to _lead_. We would have to _tell _you or another teacher to keep _order_ during classes." The glimmer of understanding in the professor's eyes indicated that she too had understood. Both then remained silent, finishing the last of their tea, when the clock – transfigured from a pinecone - struck ten. Beside them, the oak door swung open.

"Oh, look at the time, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall sounded inordinately pleased with herself and their meeting. "You best be getting back to Gryffindor tower."

Hermione rose and took her leave, the back of her mind supplying that Professor McGonagall had visibly aged years. She shook her head. Now was not the time to turn maudlin; she had two boys to feed and a conundrum to figure out once they had explained to her whatever it was they had been making her research on.

As if to prove her point, she tripped on a trick step while hurrying to the kitchens.

* * *

AN: Not as interesting a chapter as the previous, but necessary I'd say. Like long math classes, I suppose. :) I have no idea what time curfew in canon is and apparently the information is not online either so for the purposes of this fic, I'm setting it at half past ten. If you know the right time, do drop me a line so I can adjust the timing here.


	7. Chapter 7

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
**

_"Jealousy is nothing more than a fear of abandonment"_  
**Anonymous  
**

* * *

_outside the kitchens_

Once the giggling pear's portrait had closed behind her, she realised that she need not have worried about giving the house elves an excuse. Hand them a bottomless bag – well, almost bottomless – and you could watch them fill in a month's worth of food with a rather unholy glee. Instead, she felt a tinge of guilt at spending school money, but consoled herself with the thought that it was for a good cause.

'_Positively Gryffindorian,'_ she snorted. Hefting both the bottomless bag of books and bottomless bag of food on opposite shoulders, she set off the forest at a brisk trot.

The main entrance was empty, which would have been wonderful if anyone could see through her Disillusionment Charm, which had been made duly stronger after last Saturday's debacle. Now, the still corridor served only to remind her of a night only a week past. If moonlight made the corridors of late night Hogwarts seemingly spectral, the facade and turrets became living fairy tales when illuminated by the lunar glow. Hermione walked to the forest's edge, dearly hoping the boys would not be late. She sincerely felt that she would much rather not meet her end in a dark forest beast's gullet. The fringe of the forest was most quiet and the slightest crunch of leaves behind her had her spring around quickly. She saw nothing but the silhouette of Hagrid's hut and the giant pumpkins being grown for the Halloween. An improved version of the Point-Me spell cast under breath led her straight ahead. Deathly still were the leaves and Hermione could have sworn that years of rumours and fearful whispers had primed her to believe that this Forest embodied danger.

Another crunch of branches on the forest floor halted her passage.

"How did we become friends?" She heard Harry. It was a slightly hoarse and somewhat out of breath Harry, but distinctly Harry nonetheless.

"Trolls during the First-year Halloween feast. I covered up for you two." Hermione had prepared for this and dropped her bags. "How did I get through Third Year?"

"Time turner." The whisper was a great deal less subtle, but Hermione was relieved to hear Ron's voice just the same.

"Patronus check," she ordered. Three muted castings of Expecto Patronum could be heard in the small grove and around a seemingly empty circle an otter, doe and jack russel terrier leaped, pranced and dove.

She had barely dropped her Disillusionment Spell when Harry and Ron stepped out from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and knocked the wind out of her in a tight hug. It was testament to the hard time the boys had endured living on the run when the two immediately pulled away to cast silencing spells and alarms. Hermione added her own wards before settling down on the grassy patch beneath their feet.

Opening the bag of nicked food, she offered, "Late supper, anyone?"

The boys turned to each other then grinned before tearing ravenously into what Hermione had brought. The second pang of guilt of the night shot through her as she witnessed how hungry the boys were. There was the tinge of shame too when she felt how much they had and how little she had contributed to the war effort. The emotions were overridden though by her gratefulness that the through her they still had access to research and food.

Ron looked up from the chicken leg he was gnawing in ways reminiscent to Hermione of a wild dog. "Oi, Mione, that frown tells me you have something to say." He teasingly offered her the partner chicken leg.

It seemed a lifetime ago that she would have scolded him for speaking with his mouth open, but instead, she smiled and reached in her book bag to take out a sheaf of parchment. Tapping it, she swiftly reorganised the items listed by house.

"So boys, you asked me for objects that are historically listed to have held significant emotional value to the Founders. I need to ask first – why?"

The boys glanced at each other and Ron spoke up, "It's not that we don't trust you, Mione. But we're just really afraid that someone in the castle might use Veritaserum on you or hurt you for the information. Harry didn't even want to tell me at first in case we get separated or something."

"We have a geas protecting the school, boys. Veritaserum simply won't take effect. As for the other possibilities, shouldn't that be my decision?" Hermione sighed and looked down at the papers. "Boys, I can't research when I don't know what you want to find." She spread out the pieces of parchment. "There are dozens of items for each of the founders." As she flattened the scrolls, she did not know whether to be hurt or proud that they had reasons for the exclusion.

Harry turned Ron, "She needs to know." Facing Hermione, he continued, "Dumbledore told me to look for Horcruxes, objects embedded with pieces of Vol – wait, can't say his name, there are people monitoring that - well, You-Know-Who's soul. I don't know how he knows but he says they're either objects important to the school or important to his family"

Hermione leaned against a tree and digested the snippet of information. "How many?"

A soft sigh. "Seven."

"Is it safe to assume that killing him is useless as long as one of the other six is still around?"

"Three. He's one, we've destroyed two: Ginny's diary in Second Year – Hermione's mouth formed an o of recognition – and a ring Dumbledore had destroyed was a family heirloom. Three are left out there because we have one." Harry gestured to Ron who pulled out a goblin wrought chain from under his shirt.

The glint of gold at his chest drew her like fire to a moth. Only the tip of her fingers grazed the gold when fresh pain shot up her arm, repelling her. Again the boys glanced at each other knowingly – those looks were beginning to irk Hermione – and Ron stopped eating long enough to admit "It can cause rather disturbing thoughts or weigh you down emotionally. _His_ evil radiating from it, I suppose – especially when you're hungry or tired or lack sleep. We stole it from the Ministry."

Hermione gasped as she took a closer look at the intricate design of the snakes forming the locket. "I don't even want to know how." She rolled her eyes at the boys sporting matching grins before she reached again for her parchment. "If that's the case, we can eliminate many of these." She looked at the list thoughtfully. "I don't want to narrow the search too much, but I wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort didn't use anything from Gryffindor or at least you could go through Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff first because I'm guessing this locket is a Slytherin artefact."

The boys nodded and she was pleased. She wasn't the perspicacious know-it-all of the trio for nothing. Her eyebrows furrowed when her thought processes led to a rather obvious question. "Do you know _how _to destroy them?"

"No. We only know that the Basilisks fang worked on the diary. Dumbledore didn't tell me how he destroyed the ring. It was a family heirloom on You-Know-Who's mother's side. He gave it to me the night the Traitor killed him."

Hermione stiffened at that. She did not know if the boys knew, "He's the Headmaster now."

"So we've heard." It seemed Ron had stopped eating now as he was cleaning up their small clearing.

Harry continued, "We were wondering if you could spy on him."

Dumbledore it seemed had passed on to Harry not only the ring but his rather keen talent at scheming. "Perhaps get close enough to him to eventually have access to his office or quarters. We think he might have one of the horcruxes, but we can't risk entering the castle."

Harry almost sounded like he was pleading. For what, she couldn't tell. "Honestly, Hermione, we have no idea what exactly we're asking you to do. But we_need_ information."

Hermione brushed the hair out of her eyes, her mind whirring to possible scenarios until it alighted like a butterfly back to the original question. "What do we do with all the horcruxes?"

"You can help with research in the library. We'll see what we find out on the streets. We've been hunting at antique stores and dark arts alleys all over England, but your list will help narrow down the options." The obvious contrast in danger levels pushed something in Hermione to react.

"Let me keep it." She blurted out.

"What?"

"The locket I mean." The pressure of the moment suddenly loosened her tongue, "It's safer this way. You don't have to worry about it as you travel. Should I find a way to destroy it, I can immediately test it." and, much as she hated to admit it, "Besides, it would distract me less." She did not have to explain the obvious comfort of having more sleep and food. The boys were more in need of their wits about them as they travelled unprotected.

The stillness of the moment was broken by the crunch of the footsteps of someone approaching. The trio were speedily under cloak and spell, their bags covered in the shadows. Huddled beside a tree trunk, they anxiously avoided detection. The release of tension was palpable when the trio saw it was only Hagrid going out with Fang for a walk. His passage, however, reminded them of the lateness of the hour and despite the cover of the Muffliato, they dared not whisper their goodbyes. Removing the cloak a last time, Harry seemed to be mentally weighing options. Tilting his head thoughtfully to one side, he touched the tip of his want to the clasp at Ron's nape and levitated the trinket to Hermione. She raised her own want to ward the locket before placing it around her neck. They hugged her a last time and disappeared into the forest. There was nothing more to be said.

It was a brisk walk back to the castle, despite the heavy weight on her chest and in her heart. Perhaps she had been too lucky so far, having succeeded on her intentions in Professors McGonagall's office, easily taking food from the kitchens, meeting the boys and not getting eaten by some wild beast that the universe sought to seek balance. She found Headmaster Snape was walking along the corridor near the castle doors.

Or rather, _he_ found _her_. One could call it _deja vu_ but since neither encounter was a dream. Hermione saw the past Saturday in this Saturday like a bad rerun: the corridors awash in the pale light, coal sliver eyes probing her mind, the heat of the moment, threat of revelation and the slice of gleaming verbal weapons. She had just entered, without the doors creaking even, when he spoke.

"_Again_, Ms. Granger? I find I cannot fathom which of your peers could be so deserving of your affections that you would repeatedly break curfew for him._Twenty _points from Gryffindor and detention on Monday... with _me_."

He swept away in the all too familiar billow of robes.

Left alone in the rapidly cooling corridor, Hermione rubbed her eyes. Despite the goosebumps, she had to admit that _that_ encounter at least covered the complicated business of finding a way to start spying on Headmaster Snape.

* * *

AN: Sorry if the next one will take a bit longer. I'd love it if you could drop a line if you have the time :) Thanks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Eight  
**

_"The school of suffering tempers man, the arena of combat strengthens the soul."  
_**The Reign of Greed  
**

* * *

The Headmaster would not have her clean anything.

This she knew because she noticed how brighter students tended to be assigned academically related work for detention. She'd made this observation to Professor Lupin when he was still their professor and he'd confessed that the professors simply could not resist the chance to pass off grunt work to students who could be expected to do it reasonably well. She had laughed at that time, not realising how the information would benefit her much later on.

'_So cutting or brewing it is.'_ In the mirror earlier, Hermione had seen herself fairly spruced up and as mature as she could get with a lengthier school skirt, neatly pressed blouse and her best robes. Underneath it all, separated from her skin only by a hair's breadth of air lay the horcrux, beating like a living heart against hers.

_There. Again_. She felt the silent tremor of her ribcage crushing in on itself – or at least, what she thought it would feel like should such a thing happen. A split-second and it was gone, leaving her gasping and breathless, leaning against the wardrobe. Quick analysis allowed her to renew the protective charms around the horcrux and reminded her that she needed to keep her strength up.

Her analytical mind had also quickly found the easiest route to added time with the Headmaster: a repeat of her performance with Professor McGonagall, or in short, apprenticeship. She carefully catalogued away the regret at losing her spot for Transfiguration knowing full well that yet again, this was not the time to become maudlin. Instead, she gobbled down a bit of her pepper-up-laced chocolate then dabbed a bit of the Luscious Lips, which the twins had miraculously not tampered with, hoping it might be of help.

'_Well, if I'm going to die, I'm going to die looking good.'_ Grinning to herself, she raised her hand to knock on the dungeons door.

As it swung open and hummed under her touch, she wondered perhaps if the lipgloss had been too much. She did not wonder long, however, because of the quick directive to –

"'Prepare enough Pepper-Up, Ms. Granger, for thirty students. Use these ingredients."

Laid out before her were standard ingredients in their rawest forms. Newt eyes with pupils intact, snargaluff pods still attached to the vines, the berries of the sneezewort nestled among the poison-tipped thorns. It was either the Professor had ordered ingredients from a shockingly incompetent apothecary or this was some kind of test.

Hermione was smiling inside. She could do _tests_.

Unlike what most dunderheads would have done, Headmaster Snape noticed Ms. Granger scribbling on parchment what he supposed were her computations for the changes that brewing in bulk would require before she sought a larger cauldron. It seemed she knew the theoretical basics of mass potioneering because she did not resort to simply tripling ingredient measurement. Practical basics, as well, for he observed nimble fingers making quick work of the salamander skin he had left not flayed. He was surprised to note some techniques he had neither taught them nor had them read about. Ms. Granger was not pedantic in her method but more of practiced and sure in her handling. Tempted as he was to begin questioning, he could not disturb the brewing process, however, and marked papers while waiting until her two hour's worth of effort had been finished.

For Hermione, Potions was not her first passion but it came as a close second. It was for this reason, she hoped, that her apprenticeship scheme would not come across as utter fraud. She had turned from the worktable to bring the tray of cooling vials to the Headmaster's desk when she found larger hands taking the tray from her.

"Thank you, Ms. Granger," The Headmaster carried the vials to a cupboard, returning swiftly to assist her in cleaning up the equipment.

"You're welcome, Sir."

Hermione was thankful that she had empty bowls and knives in hand for she was now faced with the necessity of bluffing to the master spy himself and she was aware that fidgeting in fear would undermine whatever chance she had. Her being muggleborn or from Gryffindor were surely not plus factors. All she had were the outward appearance of maturity, a good work ethic, and a track record of excellence that she knew even _he_ had to admit. Then again, who had ever understood the mind of this man or made him admit to anything he didn't wish?

"Ms. Granger," the girl in question met her professors' tone of courteous detachment with but a quick double blink of the eye, "have you ever read about mass potioneering?"

"It was mentioned briefly in the Seventh Year text, however, I regret that I have read only a little more about it outside the book, Sir."

"Ah yes, well, very few do."

Work done, he led her, at that moment, to sit on the chair in front of his desk – a courteous act both contradictory with his usual behaviour and resonant with the silent, polite man she'd witnessed tonight. He _had_ let her brew in peace, hadn't he?

A miracle, quite frankly.

"What do you know about it, Ms Granger?"

Much as she hated to admit, "Not much, Sir," and the admission caused the professor's left eyebrow to reach its familiar added height, "but I do know that it isn't as basic as increasing ingredients wholly in order to increase the production output. I mean, it's not just a matter of doubling the ingredients to get double the potion volume. Certain formulae for mixing ingredients affect the outcome and need to be computed."

The line of black above his eye lowered to meet the other's height and the thin lips parted into a momentary smirk that Hermione could have sworn meant he was pleased by her response. But that couldn't be, could it?

"Ms. Granger, I find,' Hermione found the coal slivers now forming full black diamonds, looking straight at her, as if addressing the concern directly to her eyes. "your work was... adequate."

They both watched his long digits tipping over and over again one of the glass vials she had prepared just minutes ago, its translucent liquid contents sloshing as he spoke.

"I find my added duties" – as Headmaster, it need not be said, it was too painful to be said – "time- consuming and I seem to need capable assistance." She felt his gaze fixed on her again. "Would you consider, Ms. Granger, assisting me in brewing the potions the school requires?"

She was silenced by surprise; plausibly, he mistook it for apprehension.

"You will, of course, receive extra credit should you be discreet about it."

That snapped her out of her reverie. Snape _offering_ extra credit without her asking for it? _That_ was simply unheard of. Surely, something was afoot. Yet it would also serve her purposes to be in close proximity to the Headmaster, to even, Slytherin a tactic as it might appear, fall into the trap willingly so as to be close enough to find what it is all about and Hermione planned to take full advantage of that. It was also a plus point for her to save the apprenticeship proposal should she need to bargain for more time one day.

"Thank you, Sir." Her tone sincere and her heart simultaneously lighter and heavier, "Even without the credit, I would be honoured to help."

The gleam in his eye of him being pleased was gone, replaced with only a dry look and the dull tone of business to accomplish. "Very well then. Come by after diner whenever you are free and you can do work then, so long as you keep me informed me of what you are doing. I shall leave a list of what the infirmary, various teachers, specific students and even the gamekeeper requires. You need not inform me in advance if you're coming for I am always in my laboratory until _curfew_."

Ignoring the veiled reminder, Hermione smiled in response and thanked him before leaving. She then set off for the Room of Requirement, finding she needed time to think. She had school work to finish, horcruxes to hunt, a handful of hours of sleep to be savoured _and_ she was unsure of what exactly had just happened.

But for all intents and purposes, without lifting the figurative finger, it is interesting to note that Hermione Granger's career as a spy on _the_ master of all spies had unequivocally and unexplainably begun.

* * *

AN: I'm sorry it took forever to update. Shortest chapter to date, as well. Not that you guys would mind too much, I think, since greater fics have taken ages, so I'm sure you'd forgive a newbie with an okay fic for taking even longer, right? :D

Also, I'm in need of a beta because I'd like to post this up in PP and Ashwinder, but I feel queasy approaching people so um.. if you're interested, drop me a note so I can check out your profile and see if we'll work fine? Thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
**

_"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree."  
_**Martin Luther  
**

* * *

_Room of Requirement  
_  
For all the hours of danger and adventure that the war novels years later would erroneously record, hours and days more were truthfully spent in silent introspection, tense anticipation and private labour. For Hermione, it was a precarious balancing act between the requirements of still staying in school and researching information for all the little projects she found herself involved in. The week was divided into almost daily brewing with the Headmaster, horcrux-hunting in dusty tomes, spell research for the DA and whenever she could squeeze time in for herself, seeking information for the Transfiguration project.

She was feeling distinctly overwhelmed, but tamped that emotion down for future contemplation. It could not possibly be healthy she knew, but Occlumency taught her the threat of free-wheeling emotions in wartime. Occlumency had also taught her the danger of stockpiling emotion because of a possible breakdown but she had long decided to deal with everything after.

'_Whenever_ after_ was.'_

The letters in her notes began to dance about each other. Tired, she pushed aside the pile of parchment in front of her, replacing it with a fat, chintz floral pot. She personally thought it rather kitschy, but it came free of charge from the house elves and was serviceable enough that she didn't have the heart to replace it. In the past, she never understood what had her fellow Britons drinking tea by the tankard, but now she took it like water to calm her. Even the mere process of brewing tea was calming.

Yes, brewing. Now _that_ was something she didn't mind doing.

Ron or Harry would call her barmy, she was sure, so she never thought to even tell them about her now nearly nightly brewing periods with Snape. Honestly, how could she admit the greatest of ironies that only in the Headmaster's office did she feel wholly at peace? Entering the dungeons, she would drop her worries at the door, knowing she could not reach Headmaster's standards if otherwise preoccupied, and for two blessed hours, every other day, would brew ointments and elixirs for her silent taskmaster. The challenging task of preparing potions she knew ill students would be drinking certainly upped the pressure, more than the extra credit being offered. The Headmaster had even dropped a book in front of her earlier today. Spiky handwriting on the title page declared it _Property of the Half-Blood Prince_ and if anything, that answered one of the many questions she had had.

It was one question only, however, that had answers because for every little bit she had observed from the Headmaster during their almost daily interaction, she had more questions to ask than had been answered.

She noticed that he really did spend his time in the potions classroom and while that answered his usual whereabouts, that did not tell her where his private quarters were and where he was most likely to hide information – if he even kept any, which she highly doubted – regarding the horcruxes or Death Eater affairs. Personally, she thought the chances of her discovering those without his express invitation pretty slim, which would mean this spying plan was utter bollocks. She also knew now that he didn't take standard Hogwarts tea because she could smell chamomile from across the room, but she didn't know how she managed to see him eating during breakfast when she would leave the Great Hall and yet, she could hear him shuffling about in his office when she would arrive early for first-period Potions though he seemingly never left the hall. He apparently had a vast collection of useful texts, one of which she was lucky enough to borrow, but she had no idea where he kept the rest. His manners were impeccable though his tone was brusque; she could readily believe that he drank the red ink he so avidly used due to the speed that she noticed bottles were used up, but he also sat by her side, repairing cauldrons, which the student owners had not even noticed needed mending. For that matter, other than for the damning evidence of killing Headmaster Dumbledore, she could not even tell which side he was really on.

The turning of the door knob cut short her musings.

Grabbing a book, Hermione would have been more surprised had she not been expecting someone to come around eventually. How uncommon could it be to walk three times past the Room of Requirement and look for a place to study in peace? She quickly flipped to a random page and began reading so as not to frighten her visitor by appearing as if she'd been waiting for him. With a brief glance through the curtain of her hair, she wasn't particularly surprised to see Malfoy either, figuring he would be one of the few outside the DA who knew about the room's existence.

Draco, however, was surprised and while pureblood decorum prevented him from gaping, if he could have, he would have. His eyes widened noticeably upon observing someone else was in the room, the gray centres of his irises darkening with a mixture of confusion and adrenalin. He looked to the side and saw, most unexpectedly, Granger and, quite expectedly, a rather thick compendium in her lap.

He realised several minutes of non-movement later the Granger girl was staring at him staring at her.

"Oh, um.." despite Draco not bearing the element of surprise, Hermione was rather uncertain of what exactly to do. The opportunity presented to her by this meeting did not escape her notice either, "Would you like to sit down?"

It irked Draco that _she_ was offering him a spot, much like as if she was hostess and he an unexpected guest. He was plenty sure he'd had this place before she did.

The crackling fire in the hearth, though, told him she'd been there for hours, at the least, and it would be bad form to shoo her out. He dared not exit, however, and risk another discussion where his father would extol the virtues – and the irony was wholly unintended – of their alliance with the Dark Lord, having heard little else during this entire day that his father had been visiting Uncle Severus and invited him too for tea.

Realising he had stood long enough, he moved to an armchair near the fire. The silence due to a lack of conversation was filled instead with the tinkling of a teaspoon against china. Fresh supplies of tea leaves and boiling water came from the kitchen house elves, thus he observed the girl's movements and since she did not speak, he did not venture to do so. Her pouring and handling of the tea, though, was so methodological, so precise. So very _familiar_.

Draco looked around again and was suitably impressed. He noted the changes since he'd last come, starting with the teak bookshelves and not ending with the idyllic, but very muggle, landscape paintings. The room, being sentient notwithstanding, had been presumptuous enough to assume he'd prefer green pillows and mordantly imperialistic tapestries with silver trimmings when he used to stay here. Granger had apparently managed to overcome the room's prejudices since the present room was mostly varnished yew with the most calming shade of blue upholstery whenever placed instead of the expected lion gold and gaudy red.

"I haven't met you here since I started using this room." Her voice wafted to him softly, gently like the scent of the tea leaves brewing. He could smell chamomile and other pleasant scents suffusing the room and his mind seemed very much clearer, lighter.

"I used to go here last year when I needed some place to think. Also the vanishing cabin –," He cut himself off, startled, just as she spoke again. He wouldn't – shouldn't! – have volunteered such information.

"You kept it here?" She looked up and he could not resist nodding. Looking back at the dainty cups, Hermione continued. "I always wondered. No matter, do you take milk?

This time he shook his head. His gaze continued to roam the room, noting how Granger's preferences for certain topics were made clear by the shelves upon shelves on history and potions tomes outnumbering all the other subjects. Perhaps the rumours that Granger had read Hogwarts, A History more than a hundred times were true.

"Sugar? Lemon?" Her fingers grazed over the options as if she was picking potions ingredients.

"Granger, stop the niceties." His fingers were curling and uncurling repeatedly. It was a sign of anxiety that he had yet to control.

"Something the matter, Mal – "

"You're being too friendly."

Hermione's lips pursed. "Malfoy, it's _tea_. You'd think I'd prepared an entire banquet, the way you put it, instead of just asking Hogwarts' standard brew from the house elves. I'd serve this to _anyone._" She muttered under breath, "...except perhaps Vol – "

Flatly, in a complete turnabout from his chillingly polite demeanour, he cut her off. "Don't say that."

"Well, that answers the second of my questions. You are marked, aren't you?" She didn't bother to watch his response, but had she done so, she would have noticed Draco paling considerably.

"Anyway, it's just tea." She passed him the cup before taking a sip from her own.

He looked at the cup then at her. Taking a vial from his pocket, he trickled a few drops to test for poison into the cup. He was not sure how he felt as he saw it was safe. "I'd think you were subtly inching your way into my good graces for something but that kind of subtlety is beyond Gryffindors." Noticing no changes in the colour, he took a sip himself.

"Well, that's what you think. The sorting hat divided us by what characteristics we valued, not what we necessarily possessed." Her book placed aside, she curled in her chair and watched the twisting of the burning wood in the fireplace. "I should have been in Ravenclaw then, wouldn't you say? Fortunately for you, there's nothing you can offer me at present so this all from the goodness of my heart." Her words tasted of sugar-coated sarcasm.

"I could drag you out and kidnap you." Draco noted with nonchalance.

He would have to do more than that to scare Hermione, however. "Most of the teachers except for Headmaster are not for your side. Neither is the castle. I'd wager it would take you a bit of luck to do that."

"Indeed. So why are _you_ here, Granger?"

She weighed her answer, wondering what could be inclusive without too presumptuous and thought to mimic an earlier statement of his, "Perhaps, I just need some peace."

Taking another sip of her tea, Draco didn't wonder. It was either the house elves lovingly added other things into the tea they provided her or she added her on, but either way, Draco found the blend most calming, as if it simultaneously filled up the gaps left by his anxieties and drew out the tension, answers to questions. Or maybe he was just messing around with his mind, the stress of the weeks, months, years previously even, making him maudlin. He was, regarding matters of the present, extremely thankful for the detector potion Uncle Severus had provided him, helping him ensure in unexpected situations such as this, that he was not about to be poisoned.

The bell clock on the chimneypiece heralded the tenth hour of the evening. It being close to curfew, Hermione started picking up the loose pieces of parchment around her workplace. She rolled the sheaves in twine-bound scrolls, tucked these into her bottomless bag and offered Draco the pot with a wave of her hand, "You can have the rest of the tea."

Perhaps there was something in the drink the Granger girl had given him or perhaps it was simply his need to speak out tonight, but Draco suddenly blurted out a question he had long pondered, "Doesn't it bother you that I helped kill the old man?"

Hermione was silent for a beat. Still with her back to him, she spoke seemingly to the wall.

"I miss Headmaster Dumbledore and maybe it did bother me once that you had to do the dirty work, yet if not you, then who? Someone or the other would have been assigned and I can only empathise - "

"Empathy, Granger?"

"You cannot use my pity, Malfoy. Anger will not take me anywhere either, but I understand what you had to do and so all I have is empathy. It is war and we must do what we must do." Her voice had started out loudly, tinged with indignation, yet now it trailed off until he could barely hear her, "but it will never be easy to kill, will it?"

He did not have to dignify that question with a response. They were coevals in facing its implications, expectations.

Hermione walked to the door and turned to face him briefly before she walked out. "Goodnight, Malfoy." A slim hand upon the door and she passed through its shimmering translucence of semi-existence.

He didn't suppose she could hear him, but he called out nonetheless, " Goodnight, Granger."

Outside, though, Hermione did, in fact, hear him and smiled as she hurried back to her room. It would not do to be caught another time by Headmaster Snape but if anything, she was thankful for the _Bluff!_ the twins had sent her. Granted that they all made it through the war, she was sure those two could sell that and the rest of their not-quite-gag products and they would be filthy rich in no time.

* * *

AN: If you don't remember where _Bluff!_ is from, you can skip a few chapters back :) This one is a rather long chapter to make up for the length of time between posting this one and possibly the next. Thanks for stopping by. :D


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 was accidentally deleted during revision two years after the original posting. A new chapter 10 will be written ASAP. If anyone remembers what the chapter is about or has a copy of it, could you please PM me? I would greatly appreciate it.

My sincerest apologies.

_-Maggie_


	11. Chapter 11

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

_"Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.""_  
**Auric Goldfinger**

* * *

_Room of Requirement, Saturday afternoon_

"One more time!"

Hermione had never heard Ginny yell so loudly. Then again, she supposed a loud voice and a commanding presence were necessities in a family of six brothers.

"That was sloppy!"

The fiery redhead was casting her famed Bat-Bogey Hex at a row of fellow students. Those whose shields withstood the onslaught of hexes were free to rest. Those left behind were waiting for Hermione's counter curses or healing spells.

They expected her to know and fortunately for them, she did. It was considered a self-evident truth that Hermione would be knowledgeable about such things seeing as she was so much better than them at almost _everything. _It wasn't arrogance, just the truth and in fact, it irked her to know this. She had trained with the boys during the summer whenever they could get away from the rest of the Weasleys or avoid Order members popping by – who for some strange reason were avoiding them as well, which was in Hermione's opinion rather stupid as they were leaving their supposed saviour of the Wizarding World in the dark-, taking advantage of Harry's natural skill, Ron's sheer strength of magical power, and her... _research._

_'Can't quite escape the label, now can we, Hermione?' _She blinked rapidly then proceeded to change Justin Finch-Fletchley's hair back to its standard shade. A flick and Fletchley lost his new and very wiggly tentacles as well.

They had already made the most of what resources the trio had had and yet, Hermione knew she was woefully unprepared for the Battle, wherever and whenever it would happen. What was her duelling history compared to that of the Death Eaters who had been in the thick of things for the past twenty years? If she was unready, she did not want to even begin classifying her peers, many among whom still saw the DA as a game. Defence against the Dark Arts classes just didn't cut it when for the opposition, the Dark Arts was a lifestyle – that and they had had horrible teachers for most of their time in Hogwarts.

Hermione sighed. Maybe that was too harsh, but it did often feel that way.

_"Ouch!"_

The elder Creevey was recoiling from her. Colin, upon further check by Hermione, had been struck by a nasty combination of the Jelly-Legs Jinx and a mild burn hex, thus requiring quite a bit more of her attention than the vicious jab she had accidentally given him with her wand. Put simply, Finite Incantatem wasn't going to work on this mess up of _supposedly_ harmless jinxes.

She met Luna halfway through the line, the latter having begun reversion spells from the other end of the queue. Hermione looked about and saw several students from the lower years, firsties even, and she could not help but feel saddened at having drawn them into a fight they were too young to understand.

_'A hypocritical statement if I ever did see one. How old were you again when you met Fluffy?'_

Right. _Still_ it didn't seem fair. As she watched Ginny lead the class through a series of shielding positions, Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment. There was nothing they could teach her and she did not have the talent Ginny had in teaching them. The meeting was finishing soon and Hermione sat to watch them leave in twos and threes. Ginny, with Neville and Luna, could handle this. She would simply provide _research_ as necessary. Yet again, she felt superfluous and it was a sobering thought.

_'They don't need me anymore.'_

Hermione got Ginny to leave by giving her the impression that she'd be studying. _Alone_. For a _long _time. With a heavy-handed comment about how _exciting_charms applied on paper algorithms for Advanced Arithmancy was. Ginny swiftly made her excuses and was running out fast enough to beat a seeker mounted on a broom. Amused as she was, Hermione was too tense to read her books as she had told the younger girl she would be doing. She mentally began willing the room to change to her preferences, causing padded walls and flooring to melt from the air onto the room.

Quickly removing her outer robes, Hermione decided to quietly exit the DA, offering Ginny instead the continued service of her research for spell work and cure. It was the practical thing to do as the regular meeting time could be better spent for the Horcrux-hunt and her steadily piling up school work. Remembering the Horcruxes again, she wondered, as she often did, where Harry and Ron could possibly be.

They had continued to limit contact through the portraits, fearful that other portraits in the castle could find ways into it and spy upon either the boys or herself so as of a few nights ago, the two had sent only a few cryptic lines, mostly hinting at travels through the northern forests and an evident lack of success.

Tonight being Halloween, she felt a pang in her for Harry and what this day and night meant for him. Would they still be at _this, _hunting Horcruxes, fighting and fighting,well into their twenties and thirties and hundreds? All wars had to end - Hermione recalled well the history lessons she'd had while still in primary school - and grimaced. Some of thosehad lasted decades, if she remembered right.

Almost done shifting, the quickly lengthening hall sported at one end a small black box on a stand and Hermione focused her attentions on it. The here and now were infinitely more useful for their survival and _that_ little beauty had arrived the first time she thought to use the Room of Requirement for training.

She stood in a stance, facing it across the room.

_'Begin.'_

Hexes and jinxes of varying hues and speeds began hurtling in her direction. She parried a blue shot at her leg with one of her own while dodging a Slicing Hex meant for her wand arm. Tumbling forward, she launched a Protego, relying on the backlash of the shield to propel her backward and stabilise her footing.

She loved the _Spell Box_, as she had fondly nicknamed it, for the precision and agility it required of her and because it never repeated spells within a single session thereby maximising her practice time. She'd introduced countless simplified versions of spells the Box had sent at her through retracing observed colour, speed, and yes, effect of the spells. Fortunately for her, the Box had charmed things such that a simple Finite Incantatem could reverse even the most complex of the darker hexes it sent.

Gasping from the exertion, she raised her hand and didn't bother to mentally address the room.

"Stop!"

The spells dissipated mid-flight and the only sound that could be heard was Hermione's heavy breathing. She lay down on the floor, hoping that one day she would be skilled enough to handle more than one box simultaneously. She had requested it from the Room several times but received the overwhelming sense of reluctance from the invisible provider. Having also requested that the room "be safe" – she didn't want to have Madame Pomfrey questioning her on curses she hadn't been able to fix hence the ease with which the Room's version of spells could be reversed – Hermione took it as a sign that the Room felt she wasn't ready yet. Similarly, she had found the room most hesitant to produce dummy versions of Headmaster Dumbledore or young Tom Riddle for her to practise duelling against, but she easily asked for and received doppelgangers of Harry, Ron and the older members of the DA. It also seemed that the room drew inspiration from previous visits since Hermione observed during her previous time that the pseudo-Dean she fought with preferred the same fighting style the real Dean did in DA.

Prying her sweaty self off the floor, she closed her eyes and asked for any opponent she had not had before. The room shimmered in response, its glowing centre cut short by the door opening.

Recognising who entered, Hermione grinned. It seemed a fake and rather spiffily dressed Draco Malfoy was her guest for the night.

The lad was looking around, just as he had the first night he had seen her reading. Quickly noting the setting, he took off his dark blue robes by the door and walked across the room to face her. There, he directed a deep bow towards her. And smirked.

Surprised, – none of the past dummies had done so but she chalked it up to purebred manners – she reciprocated the action. A split second after, they rose and spells flew.

It was vicious, it was fierce, and to Hermione, it was_ exhilarating_. A far cry from her stodgy, school-driven, behind-the –desk self, she was lunging, kicking and dancing a deadly tango with the skilled Slytherin Prince. Very skilled his double was, in fact, because he proved far more challenging than those the room had provided before.

She narrowly missed a well-aimed_ Sectumsempra_; her eyes narrowed as her mind whirred. Only those who had read the Headmaster's book would have known that – unless it was now common knowledge among the Death Eaters – which she supposed Malfoy had joined. Hermione rolled to the side and deflected a Slicing Hex which Draco deflected back in turn. Catching an opening, she was surprised to be at the receiving end of another _Sectumsempra_, but successfully blocked it back, fully expecting Malfoy to shield himself yet again.

Instead, she watched him clutch his side. Beneath long pale fingers, crimson leaked from his badly singed formal dress, shirt.

_'Dummy duellers don't bleed.'_

The images flew through her head like Quidditch players in a furious game.

_'The clothes. The smirk. The bow.'_

Hermione froze as the boy blanched and sank to his knees.

_'The entrance through the door. The repeated Sectumsepras. The blood.'_

Malfoy was _real_.

_'Fuck.'_

* * *

AN: Don't kill me for the cliffie. 8D

I apologise for the cuss at the end – it just seemed rather fitting.

I apologise too that I hadn't posted as frequently as I had promised for February. School work has been piling up on me so I hope you guys are okay with the long waits. The next wait will take a bit longer too as I hope to finish at least half of my SS/HG ex entry before continuing this one. That and I'm trying to fix the next chapter for this one as character shifts in it seem rather tetchy still D:

Thanks for reading this chapter though :) Reviews would be lovely.


	12. Chapter 12

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve  
**  
_"Always forgive your enemies – nothing annoys them so much"_  
**Oscar Wilde  
**

* * *

_Room of Requirement, Saturday, late afternoon_

"Malfoy! – I'm sorry!" A quick Summoning Spell and she drew her first aid kit out of her bag. Charmed gauzes were applied with steady pressure on Draco's wounds. Her mind was running through possible complications.

" – Granger," the distinct purebred tone was still clear through his fading voice, "Not to insult your... alleged intelligence – " he spoke between gasps, "but you do... realise the point.. of duelling is causing bodily.. harm?"

She ignored him and Malfoy winced, but made no sound as she cut off the side of his shirt and applied an antiseptic poultice. Hermione gave him her left hand before using the free one to rub Burn Paste onto his skin. Experience told her to _'wait for it.. wait for it...'_

Ah, _there_, his skin had begun knitting together slowly, muscle by muscle mending excruciatingly. It wasn't visible to the naked eye because of the glow emanating from the paste at work, but she could tell because of the crunch of her fingers while Malfoy's hold on her hand tightened. Remembering the searing heat while Poppy healed her wounds after the encounter at the Department of Ministries, Hermione could only apologise again and again.

"Granger," the sound from Malfoy was a cross between a wheeze and his usual disdainful snort. "One would think you've never duelled though I'm sure that in all your years with Potter, you must have at least once." His slackening grip hinted to Hermione that the pain in his side had eased. His smirk made her certain.

"I didn't know it was you. I thought – I thought you were the sparring dummy I had requested the room for."

Draco began laughing; she threw up her hands in defeat.

_'Slytherins sure have a screwed up sense of humour.'_It was too much for her nerves, really.

Running his bloodied hands through the platinum blonde mess, Draco closed his eyes and the padded mat beneath flowed into the usual royal blue carpeting the room offered them when they would read together. Their usual stock of tea and cookies appeared above the tables forming while shelves seemingly grew out of the walls, groaning under the weight of the many, many texts lining them. He chose, however, to continue their discussion on the floor, being rather hesitant to test his tender new tissues. Hermione avoided his gaze by focusing on repairing his shirt.

"Let me get this straight, Granger. You didn't know you were fighting the real me?"

She shook her head and steadfastly focused on remoulding the melted buttons of the white shirt.

"So that was technically you at your maximum."

His incredulous tone made her heart sink.

"Hmm... I'm guessing you've never had formal duelling lessons and the most training you've had is with Potter and Weasley." His aristocratic drawl emphasised her lack of training compared to his in very stark terms. Frankly, it stung. "Nonetheless, you were brilliant, Granger."

"Wait.. what?" Her head shot up. The shirt she was magically re-stitching began fraying mid-charm.

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, it was a challenging fight. You were a worthy opponent."

"Oh," the heat spread from her cheeks to the roots of hair, "thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'm still better than you." His speaking voice back at natural and thus, Hermione assumed, his muscles as well, Malfoy picked himself off the floor and stretched out his hand to help up Hermione who was fighting a losing battle not to laugh. "I had thought you'd prepared the place for us to duel. I'm out of practice, you know," he admitted, "but I think I could still teach you a thing or two. I daresay you could teach me as well."

Hermione wasn't listening to him with her full attention, however, because the adrenaline rush was certainly helping her think of things previously unnoticed. Until at least, five minutes ago.

'_Be safe. I asked the Room to keep me safe.'_

She looked the boy in the eyes, stopping short only of using Legilimens albeit the depth of her discovery making her itch to dig deeper into his mind. Why she hadn't thought of it earlier boggled her because Hermione, you see, had realised that the Room had not changed upon his entry, which meant that Draco Malfoy was inexplicably, undeniably, miraculously –

'_Safe. He's safe.'_

If only she could lure the Headmaster Snape and countless other individuals into the Room of Requirement to have it check them as well, but she was too happy in realising that Malfoy could be trusted to even care at that moment. He was not an enemy; he was friend. He was, she also realised, still waiting for her response.

"Oh... was that an offer, Malfoy?"

"Why, I think it was." He smirked and gestured to the door with exaggerated aplomb, "Shall we now go, milady?"

Hermione was puzzled but played along, "Where to, good Sir?"

"The Halloween Ball, woman." He cast a critical eye over her weekend jumper and loosest pair of slacks. It was unnerving how the Malfoys were ostensibly trained to exude condescension in even the simplest of actions. "You weren't planning on going at all, were you?"

"Afraid not." For the second time that afternoon, Hermione was apologising. "I really don't have a reason to go."

She couldn't read the look on his face, but caught a hint of arrogance in the arch of his eyebrow, which greatly contrasted with the understanding she saw in the tilt of his lips.

"Do you dance, Granger?"

"Not exactly - I learned ballroom for a time."

Malfoy was grinning. "Works for me, I'd always wanted a dance partner who could swing." His look became contemplative as he strove to make a reasonable excuse. "Granger, you should go. I mean, you're the_ only_ prefect I can trust not to let the underage pupils drink and also to fairly deduct points from the less behaved ones."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Purely utilitarian request?"

"Purely." Malfoy opened the door to let them out. His moue of distaste at the notion of déclassé lower years who couldn't hold their drink told her a great deal.

"Well, I'll go freshen up then." Hermione turned to leave yet before she had completely crossed the threshold, Malfoy caught her arm.

"Perhaps you might consider calling me Draco?" He let her go. Aiming for a bit of his usual character, he added, "you have, after all, seen me with my shirt off."

It was logic she couldn't fault and Hermione grinned. "Only if you call me Hermione."

She watched the regal features visibly softened by a smile. "Very well then. Until later, _Hermione_." He turned on his heel to head towards the Great Hall; his dark blue robes billowed behind as if raised by an unfelt breeze.

Remembering a similar exit a certain professor had once made, Hermione walked in the opposite direction, thinking, '_It must be something they teach you in Slytherin.'  
_

* * *

_Outside the Great Hall, half past eight_

Considering she wasn't expected to dance with a domineering but well-meaning Bulgarian seeker nor be in the company of the famed Boy-Who-Somehow-Kept-On-Living and his bilious redheaded partner, Hermione knew she wouldn't be of particular notice during the Halloween Ball. Good thing too because she hadn't planned on attending the event and had thus spent the pitiful better part of the last half hour rushing while the party was already in full swing.

She blamed Draco for setting a precedent since she had chosen a simple, flowing dress with a shade of cerulean close to his robes. It was her mother's, one of the few things she'd brought back here from home, and she had willed herself not to reminisce or cry as she hunted for the her best black outer robes and wrested her hair into the neatest twist she could manage, held together by her mother's pearl comb. Dabbing a bit of the Luscious Lips – she did think it was lucky in some way and would love to thank the Weasley twins next time she saw them – she still felt hesitant at the Great Hall's entrance. Parties made her queasy for reasons her peers could never possibly understand.

A push, a deep breath, and she was inside. The Great Hall was dimly lit, smaller tables and chairs lined the walls while floating trays brought about drinks and snacks. Tiny glowing pumpkins illumined the darkened hall, their numbers concentrated along the central dance floor where an upbeat quickstep was progressing. She could see Neville trying to strike a conversation with Ginny, Romilda Vane during her impression of a lamprey eel on a non-descript Ravenclaw chaser, and the Weird Sisters on a raised platform. The Head Table had been transfigured into a smaller one, displaced to the shadows at the side of its usual spot.

Her eyes having travelled the room, she felt a distinct sense of loss at where exactly to go. A familiar hand upon her shoulder had her turn to face its owner.

"Draco."

"You clean up nicely, Gra – _Hermione_."

"As do you, Draco." She couldn't believe she was relieved to see him of all people. "And isn't that supposed to be a lady's line?" she joked. Perhaps the teasing tone she adopted led him to believe she was implying more than she was for a hint of a blush rose in the normally pale cheeks. He pulled her towards the dance floor and offered his hand, "Touche. Perspicacious as always, Hermione. You will still let _me_ lead, won't you?"

It was Hermione's turn to blush. Common experiences of vulnerability resulted apparently in some sort of trust from a Malfoy

"I'll take that as a yes," he quipped as he pulled her flush against him.

They swept into one of the few foxtrots interspersing the modern tunes performed by the musicians. Years of lessons in the sitting room with her mother seeped like instinct into her limbs and she matched each drag and step Draco made. So engrossed was she in the swell of the music that she didn't notice the admiring or jealous eyes observing their passage across the polished floor.

In the distance, a familiar pair of eyes was intently focused not on her but on her partner.

'_What is Draco playing at?'_ Snape noted the sliding dip and the breathless female audience. Even when his godson wasn't – Snape shuddered at the memory of Lucius' apoplectic wrath because of Draco's first announcement and the resulting hushing of the whole issue – _she_ wasn't his type. Nonetheless, the trademark Malfoy Charm was turned on at full blast tonight: it could attract all the women (yes, and even men) within a one mile radius. Snape would know; he'd walked with Lucius Malfoy on a mission along Knockturn Alley and it was a singularly heady experience.

Refocusing on the twirling couple, he noted the switch to a more sedate and stately Viennese Waltz. Few couples dared join the more challenging piece and he observed more teachers and older students on the floor for this one. He continued watching the pair... and did a double take.

To a less cultured observer, their flow was flawless. To the more discerning audience, himself included, Ms Granger was effectively leading Draco, with a cheeky grin to boot.

'_She knows,'_ he snorted, _'Trust Ms Granger, of all people, to know.'_

The sudden slight stroke of cold, caressing fingers swept across his left forearm and he stiffened in response. He'd long been promoted from the searing burn new recruits experienced. Enduring that was an incredible sign of loyalty - one that when successfully accomplished, the Dark Lord would reward in ways Dumbledore could only _dream_ of using to manipulate people – and the opposite was not an option worth considering if one wanted to see the sun rise one more time. As the caresses became more insistent – dare he admit, more _pleasurable_ – Severus strove not to react visibly and searched the crowd for the Carrows.

It seemed the Dark Lord was calling.

* * *

AN: I know it's been ages since the last post so I hope you guys haven't been put off by that O_o It's my first vacation since January for the next three days so I hope to get a few chapters in before it's back to the real world for me. To all those who reviewed the last couple of chapters, I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond - same excuse, I'm afraid. But, this fledgling, beta-less, rather lost writer appreciates your kind words ^^

By the way, happy youth day to all the young and young at heart. :) Hope you had a good one.


	13. Chapter 13

**Left Behind**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

_"Non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as is cooperation with good."_  
**Mohandas Gandhi  
**

* * *

_Malfoy Mansion, All-Hallow's-Eve_

Severus found the Carrows, watching him from a corner and gave them a curt nod to signal a drop of the Apparition wards. The siblings left quickly, unnoticed in the midst of the loud thump of more modern music, before he immediately snapped the wards back into place. He felt Minerva shift beside him – the Carrow's exit had not escaped her notice – and turned to her. The hard line of her jaw, the angry disappointment in her eyes burned him every time he had to look at her. He longed for a return to their comfortable, familial antagonism mixed with maternal good humour in previous years, yet they had chosen sides and she would never forgive him for what he had to do for his side – whichever it was. She could, however, be trusted with the children. Another curt nod in her direction and Severus lifted the wards briefly enough to let himself through.

The blazing light of the hundreds of lit candles of the Malfoy Manor foyer blinded Severus upon arrival. In spite of it – or plausibly, because of it – he whipped his wand out, whirling to create a full shield around him. Not having regained eyesight, he heard familiar, sultry laughter.

"My, my, Severus," the voice came from the black-haired beauty wrapped in red brocade behind him. Had he been able to see, he would have noted black organza and faille flowing into a diaphanous skirt and sleeves and a matching black wand pointing at his chest. "You really are far, _far_ too tense, you do realise?"

He lowered his wand in recognition. _Bella_. Slut of the Death Eaters or not, she was still a lady and it was still rude for a man to aim his wand at one unprovoked. It was strange, he randomly remembered, how muggles had taken the idea of it being 'rude to point' and made it uncouth practice to use the first finger to direct attention to something. He could smell peppermint-laced aerial potions wafting in from the ballroom on the right; Lust Potion, Sensitivity Serum and illegal, non-addictive hallucinogens, all of which must have been taken from Lucius' stores specially prepared by Severus. It was part and parcel of the Samhain Revel, thus he slowed his breathing in an effort to reduce the rate at which he would be affected amidst the Death Eaters partaking of their pleasures.

The circling succubus trailed a languid finger along his arm. He could see her now and Severus focused on tamping down the strong urge to shove or hex her into the other room. Neither could he avoid her by simply leaving the room himself. Pureblood decorum required that he wait patiently in the apparition foyer for an express invitation to enter and Severus would be damned before his manners be found lacking.

He kept his eyes fixed on the door, his view above Bellatrix' head. She stepped closer to him and as such a pearlescent set of teeth and the swipe of a soft, pink tongue caught his eye. Forcefully, he wrenched his eyes from her to the door again and swore at the efficacy of his own brews, _'Bloody lust potions.'_

The temptress stood but inches away and he could not help seeing in his periphery how her teeth met to hiss his name.

"Sseverrruss."

It would have been rude to snort, hence he chose to roll his eyes mentally. Bella prolonged her s's, mimicking the way the Dark Lord would, and the poor fools in the inner circle lapped it up like top notch elfin mead. The dark curls framing her face flowed behind her as if of their own volition, white hands rested gently on his shoulders as she tiptoed to meet his eyes. "Won't _you_ join usss tonight?"

Severus took a step back to disengage himself from her; she laughed, seemingly emboldened by his evasion.

"You're too sskittisssh for my tasste, but I have alwaysss thought you'd have _ssooo _much _potential_."

"Bella, you know I'm exempt."

A flash of red struck across the usual black of her eyes and Severus saw for a moment the violent streak that had let Bella reach the heights she had. "And I never underssstood why! Why don't you join your brotherss in their_ pleasssure?_" Another swipe of the small pink tongue had his lower extremities tensing up. He tried holding his breath to limit inhaling the Lust Potion he knew was reason for her dilated pupils and attempted seduction. She started to circle him once more. Where was Cissy? Lucius even. _Anyone_ to welcome him would do.

"Or do your interesstsss not lie with women?" She attempted to grope him and Bella laughed again when he flinched, recoiling from her touch. Try as he might, he could not conceal his body's reaction, however.

Bellatrix' grin was almost feral. "Apparently not then."

If he hadn't known that she'd never been bitten, he would have thought her a vampire with the way her canines were exposed. Her attraction to him as well as that of many women in the Inner and Outer Circle, he could never comprehend. Whereas his peers in Hogwarts had ignored him, older women outside pursued him.

Or perhaps it was simply that Death Eater women and wives were more uninhibited in their activities. Either way, it felt very strange, very disconcerting, very... unreal.

_Unreal_, that was the correct word for it. Just as unreal as Bella's appearance was. He'd been there when she'd escaped Azkaban, a shell only of the dark beauty that had captivated pureblood men who'd been surrounded by lithe, fair, golden women all their lives. She was an aberration and her uniqueness had served her well because spreading her... love for these men had allowed her to rise in service to become the darkest one of them all.

No position, however, could return her to her youthful form. Severus could see through the heavily layered potion-based glamours and dispassionately view the sunken cheeks, patches of baldness, and greying skin. The latter told him she was subsisting on a dangerous cocktail of Alarcity Elixir, which was an extra-concentrated Pepper-Up Potion, and a variation of the Polyjuice Potion that provided a more youthful appearance. Even without the visual evidence, he would have known considering he'd made the potions for the inner circle.

It was humorous in a rather sinister way, how dependent the Dark Lord and Death Eaters were on his brewing skills.

He couldn't, however, find humour in her attentions any more. Through a tiny crack in his perpetually raised Occlumency walls, he reached for the lady of the house.

_'Cissy?'_

'Severus! Where are you?'

'Your sister has detained me in the foyer.'

'What? The house elf was supposed to meet you. Oh, that wench! Give me a moment.'

Severus knew better than to hold his breath in waiting because of the sheer size of the house, but did so anyway to clear his head of the peppermint potion fumes. The click of deadly stilettos announced Severus' salvation and he exhaled in relief. Narcissa's tone was as clipped and cultured as her pace,

"Trixie, why don't you attend to those in the ballroom? Severus, _darling_, I'm so glad you could come. Come, come join us in the sitting room."

Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Bellatrix threw a last heated glance at Severus before setting off for new prey in the opposite direction.

"I'm sorry, Severus, I didn't know she would – "

He raised his hand. "It's all right. It was not your fault." He lowered his arm and offered it to her. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Narcissa's smile was brighter than the chandeliers' steady glow. She led him at a steady pace to the private sitting room where he could sense the Dark Lord waiting. Other than the obvious increasing sense of dark magic radiating from the room, Severus could feel the temperature dropping as if the Dark Lord was completely lacking in personal warmth that he absorbed what heat there was to be had from the surrounding. It had inspired the very use of foolish wand-waving that affected the temperature leading to and in the dungeons, which Severus had put in place early in his teaching career.

The fireplace was a glossy black marble and closest to it sat a thin reptilian man of apparently weak physique and the reddest eyes Severus would ever behold. Beside him was a man of great contrast with his flowing platinum blonde tresses and aristocratic air. It was easy to be presumptuous and dismiss one as an invalid and the other a popinjay, but Severus was never one for assumptions. He dropped to one knee,

"My Lord."

"Rise Severuss. Take a ssseat." A clawed hand gestured to one of the armchairs. He did not feel he had much of a choice in the matter because he experienced a clear outside compulsion to approach sad chair. Severus knew that the Dark Lord did not intend it but it was one of the reasons that those in his presence could hardly say no. He naturally radiated magical power in quantities that made mere whims become manifest. Narcissa, ever the perfect hostess, returned with a tray of tea and pastries.

"How goes the Halloween Ball?"

"Swimmingly, Master." Severus sought to hide his displeasure in his tone. The Dark Lord would not tolerate sass, even from his favoured, not-quite-resident Potions Master.

A bark, a wheeze, what could you call so alien a sound, of laughter erupted from the slit of a lipless mouth. The Dark Lord knew enough of his introverted follower to enjoy his discomfiture at hosting a party.

A tic in Severus' neck twitched. A chatty Dark Lord put him on the edge. Conversation meant he was in a good mood. This ranked highly in his personal list of Not A Good Thing because a cheerful Dark Lord – if you could call him that – meant he was brimming with ideas, which in turn meant new assignments. His demands became erratic, chaotic and were requested under a seemingly happy expectation of compliance.

"And Bella?"

"Tolerable, My Lord." He offered the Dark Lord a wry grin. His master was frighteningly pliable and readable on good days.

Another of the strange sounds of laughter came from the Dark Lord, causing a shiver to crawl down his ramrod straight spine. The Dark Lord's mirth at his responses reminded him all too well of the early days when loose morals and stimulating conversation and the heady offer of power attracted the richest and brightest of the Wizarding youth to his service. The appreciation of Severus' special brand of sarcasm could seldom be witnessed outside this circle.

The reptilian man turned contemplative. The silence stretched and to fill it, Narcissa began nattering about the dress robes she'd selected from Draco and how she'd chosen them from some couture boutique Severus knew was overpriced. It never ceased to amaze him how airheaded Cissy could feign to be despite the sharp intelligence she displayed in their youth and private conversations. He could never demean himself so.

"Severusss," the man in question turned to his master. He watched in wonder as the wine in the Dark Lord's goblet continuously coalesced and diffused into different forms. "May I observe the Halloween Ball?"

Severus was no fool to think it was a request and not an order. He added fortification to the walls of his mind, allowing vines to creep up over the stone parapets.

It was a swift, brutal entry. A strong wind picked up in the mental play ground that always featured prominently in his mind place. It stripped the elms lining his inner periphery, the sandbox emptied itself, the swing flipped wildly as if an insane rider was seated. At the centre of the flurry of leaves, flashes of the dance reshaped before their eyes.

_a long flowing blue dress -_

_Draco sidling up to the Granger girl -_

_Dozens of dancing students abusing the chance at increased physical contact -_

_tiny glowing pumpkins -_

_McGonagall grimacing -_

_the sliding dip and the breathless female audience. -_

_A flash of a pearl comb –_

_The Carrows apparating –_

_The elegant line of a white neck -_Peace returned in his mind as speedily as the cyclone had come. Sinking bank in his chair, Severus shut his eyes to keep away the sharp, bright light of the world outside his head. He could hear the Dark Lord speaking again.

"You have pleased me greatly, Severus. Far more tasteful decor than anything that old mudblood lover ever used. It is important that we prove to the children that we are not the cruel, Spartan monsters that blood traitor taught them we are. If we were, would we be enjoying such a place?" He gestured to the opulent design of the Malfoy sitting room. "We are, in fact, hedonists."

Narcissa poured fresh tea. "Will you be joining us for the Samhain revels, Severus?"

"I must return to the castle."

"Oh yes, you must." The Dark Lord rose to stand before the hearth, observing the antique crystal decors on the chimneypiece. Behind him, the blackest train of heavy black velvet robes trailed on the ground.

"Tell me about the mudblood."

"Master?"

"The filthy friend of the fool child that dares challenge me."

"Irritating."

"I would expect, Severus. Is she intelligent?"

"Admittedly, she is passable."

"Such high praise." He chuckled at his own joke and began to cross the room.

"She reminds me of you, Severus. Oh don't be so petulant, young man. Your grimace cannot scare me." Having reached the door, he turned to face his audience. "Eager to prove, highly intelligent, filthy blood...

...she would be an asset."

Severus knew it would have come to this eventually. For the first time in the conversation, Lucius cut in, "Certainly not a mudblood to join us, My Lord?"

The Dark Lord spoke slowly, his tone a chastisement to a slow-witted child. "I am not so blindsided as many of those who call themselves the Light not to see the merit in my opponents. There is much to gain by having an intelligent individual in our ranks. Of course, we would never permit her to sully our bloodlines by perpetrating her own with any of us, but we can offer her the honour and attention such a mind assuredly deserves. Since she is not with the fool boy and the youngest son of the blood traitor Weasleys, they seem to have deserted her." He approached the table to pick up his wineglass.

"I had tasked your son to discover a way into the trio through the students. It seemed he was the first among us to even realise the potential in seducing the mudblood to our side."

Lucius looked very surprised.

"I saw him dancing with her in Severus' mind," the Dark Lord supplied.

Lucius seemed very pleased.

Severus, on the other hand, couldn't resist bursting his bubble. "She was leading."

Inwardly, the former chuckled as he saw that while Lucius face was the picture of apathy, his fists, however, were repeatedly clenching and unclenching.

Watching them, the Dark Lord wheezed out his amusement. "Why it bothers you so, Lucius, I cannot comprehend. You simply have to produce another heir, don't you?" He returned to his seat. "I will not, however, force Draco to go against his choice. Another one in the ranks must be selected to do so."

His eyes slid from Malfoy to Severus and with it, seeming inspiration hit.

"Severus, I select you."

"Excuse me, Master?" For the first time, the Dark Lord had surprised the famed prince of obedient indifference.

"You of all people could know what she would desire. As I pointed out, you are very similar. Imagine the final glory of my plan before the defeat of the Potter fool. Imagine his own _friend_ betraying him, leading him to us."

Severus marvelled at the simplicity and potential of the idea. He should have thought of it before the master had he been paying more attention to the issue at hand. Execution, however, was another matter. Trepidation crept in as Severus sensed the line separating his deceased master and impossibly still mortal Master's instructions began to blur.

_"Whatever may happen, I entrust Hogwarts to you, my old friend." Dumbledore again. Blue eye, sans twinkle. The deeper azure of a stormy sea._

"Gain her trussst, train her in our wayss."

_"Admittedly you will be reviled by the community but I'm sure you will make a way."_

"Ssshow her what we can offer." He sounded of the hiss of a cunning snake.

_"Protect them, guide them, Severus, and if necessary..."_

"Let her sssee how they take her for granted."

_"Use them."  
_  
"Ssseduce her. "

Waves of excitement and anticipation came off the Dark Lord and Severs felt stifled in his chair, as if a great weight was pressing on him. Beside him, the Malfoys seemed stunned as well with the turn of events. Falling to his knees, he wondered yet again where he stood, before whom he truly knelt as he sensed the blatant idiocy and yet, effectiveness of the plan. He offered the expected praise,

"Such brilliance, Master."

In the hem of the Dark Lord's robes which he kissed, he saw crisscrossing lines and wondered which of the thinnest ones was the one _he_ precariously walked. Behind him, the seated Lucius acquiesced, praising the ingenuity of the plan. Narcissa did so as well before leaving the room to prepare the Apparition foyer for Severus.

Pleased by the obeisance, the Dark Lord placed his hand upon the mess of black ink flowing from his spy's head and tousled it, much as one would a child. He was proud of his trained killer who could dissect a soul and brew inhumanity without remorse. Knowing full well how this pseudo-son spurned the advances of his fellow female Death Eaters, the Dark Lord expected reserves of libido stocked and waiting for release in this very devious plan.

"I look forward to your success, my son."

Severus, intoning the favoured phrase and to all appearances very honoured, rose to apparate back to Hogwarts,

_"I live to serve."_

* * *

AN: This version's edited since the first one posted had a fluke. Thanks for the lovely reviews :) If the last mix of dialogue in this chappie is unclear, going back to chapter 10 might help. :) That is, once I find the lost chapter.

I'm really sorry, guys, but I need to go on hiatus for quite a while. It might take a year or two and I'm so sorry that I let RL interfere, but when I come back, I'll hopefully be better at this and I'll do my best by you guys :)

Until then, take care.


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